


After the Fire

by Themista



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Complete, Drug Use, Episode: s05e04 The End, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Supernatural AU: Croatoan/End'verse, Top Castiel, Top Dean, cas/other, forewarning: dean and cas have a fight in this at one point, spoilers to the end of s5 effectively
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 135,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themista/pseuds/Themista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starting in 2013 and going through 2014 this is the story of Dean and Cas in their ill-fated quest to find the colt and shoot the devil - set in the endverse alternate reality seen in 5x04 The End. The apocalypse poses Dean and Cas many threats along the way, as they have to contend with the croats and Lucifer's demons, led by Meg, all while trying to work out whether they can trust the infamously devious demon Crowley, with whom they already have a bloody history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Call Me Cas

**Author's Note:**

> Re: non-con warning – that refers to a singular instance later on in the fic that does not happen between Dean and Cas; there's another character who tries it on and is not inclined to take no for an answer.  
> Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own the SPN characters or ideas. Edlund wrote 5x04. I have accepted him as my lord and saviour and you should do the same.  
> After the Fire is a song from and album called Under a Raging Moon by Roger Daltrey, which is one of the greatest albums of all time. I use a whole lot of titles of songs that seem apt because I'm super unimaginative with titles of my own but obviously I don't own any of those sequences of words either.  
> Entertainment purposes only, no profit being made, blah blah blah.

“I mean, you're all but useless, Cas,” Dean said dismissively, concluding his not-so-brief diatribe on why exactly Castiel's opinion on how to deal with demons was wrong.

One of the half-dozen other people present round the table, a pretty woman with dirty blonde hair named Azaria, scowled at Dean and then had the temerity to turn her gaze on Cas with concern, with  _sympathy_.

“What does it say about our fearless leader, then?” Cas answered Dean, coldly. “That you still insist on my presence to make decisions?”

“Good question,” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes.

Cas just raised his eyebrows and shrugged, pulling the crutches towards him from where they rested against the wall in the corner. Azaria immediately started to rise out of her chair to help him up, but Cas insisted on doing this on his own. Around 6 weeks ago now, Cas had broken his foot whilst out on a mission with Dean and company, as they had attempted to make a swift getaway after a showdown with a demon called Meg. It was debilitating and humiliating enough for the former angel to be incapacitated, to depend on the people around him to do things for him, but he could definitely get out of a fucking chair on his own.

“Oh,” Dean threw up one hand slightly in a guarded but still obvious display of his frustration, “So now you're going?”

Everyone in the room stayed silent, and Cas didn't look back at Dean as he got up. Cas's hands around the handles of the crutches, he felt his arms taking his weight, his shoulders aching as he propelled himself forward in slow, small steps, limping out of the meeting cabin and into the cold December night with as much dignity as he possibly could, returning to the cabin he shared with Dean.

The meeting was close to being over when he left it, anyway, so Cas was not surprised when, having only been back at the cabin for a few minutes, he heard someone else walking up the veranda outside. But the footfalls were too light to be Dean's – and it turned out to be Azaria. 

The strongest emotion in Cas at that point, by far, was disappointment. He would prefer to be alone. Nevertheless, he invited her in. The two of them were friends, though it was a little more complicated than that.

Azaria had been a nurse, before all this, and now did her best as a medic at the camp, hence her presence at the meeting where they had been discussing the problem of their dwindling medical supplies, among other issues. She had cared for Cas when he was injured. Cas had asked Dean once if he could tell whether Azaria was in love with him. Dean had laughed the question off, but Cas knew Dean well enough to understand the meaning of the look in his eyes; jealousy. And Cas kind of hated himself for it, but he frequently played that to his advantage.

Once Azaria was inside Cas lit the paraffin lamp, deciding it was probably too late to bother with making a fire. He then let his trenchcoat fall to the floor in a crumpled brown heap and sat down next to it, leaning back against the foot of the bed. Azaria picked the coat up and draped it over her shoulders, apparently for warmth, though Cas was sure from her little smile as she did it that she was motivated more by her fondness for Cas, seeing as by this point the thing was filthy and worn ragged. Apart from it being Cas's signature item of clothing there was no particular reason for him to keep it. It wasn't waterproof anymore and wasn't even thick enough to be all that warm.

Cas lit a few of the candles on the side, but the only significant source of light or heat in the room remained the lamp on the floor in front of them, and that put out very little of either. The camp did have generators, and sometimes electricity was available through the mains, but, regardless, they tried not to waste it.

Azaria and Cas were alone for some time. Cas dug out some amphetamines, one of the many drugs that they had been able to get from pharmacies. He offered Azaria one, though he took two, and they were not his first of the day. Cas did also have some Ecstasy, but the last time he offered it to Azaria it had led to an argument, and Cas really couldn't be bothered with that.

They talked for a while, and Cas eventually forgot all about how angry he was supposed to be with Dean and found words tumbling quickly out of his mouth on some other subject, even though he didn't really know what he was talking about. Finally, not for the first time in the time they had known each other, Azaria asked, “Why do you stay with him, Cas?”

Cas scoffed as if that was a completely stupid question. Everyone in the camp knew that Dean and Cas shared this cabin; and all but the newest and most oblivious members knew that they were  _together_. They had always been together. Dean and Cas. Cas and Dean. It wasn't a thing to be questioned. “How long have you got?” He replied, casually. “We go back a long way.”

“He treats you like crap,” Azaria countered earnestly.

“No he doesn't...” Cas replied wearily, knowing how he sounded – as if he were some fool so hopelessly in love with the great Dean Winchester and so lacking in self-esteem that he couldn't be on his own. But that wasn't the way it was between them.

Azaria pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket; a list of names with blue and yellow highlighter pens dragged over it to split people into two teams. “You know last time him he and Risa went on a mission?” Azaria began, looking at Cas earnestly. Cas rolled his eyes and looked away, but she went on. “They each led a different team. You know, she took over for you. But next week they're going together–”

“I'm sure there's a reason for that,” Cas replied, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“You know they'll be staying out overnight in–”

“If Dean wanted to fuck Risa,” Cas snapped, his tone shocking both of them, “then he  _would_. He wouldn't concoct some complicated scheme to get them alone in the wilderness, he'd just go right over to her cabin. So drop it.”

“I'm just trying to look after you,” she said, with a note of annoyance, but after that they both sat in silence for some time. For the sake of something to do, Cas languidly pulled the paper from her fingertips and looked over it. He and Dean were together on the list of names:

 _Winchester, Castiel  
_ _Winchester, Dean_

Usually, Cas would lead one group and Dean the other, but seeing as Cas was injured, there was no highlighter pen dragged over his name. He was still on the list, though. His eyes fell to Risa's name, indeed highlighted the same colour as Dean's.

Risa often led the second team these days, since Cas's injury, if there was a second team on a mission, and Cas did not look forward to the day that he would have to try and put her back in her place, taking orders from him. There was a large part of Cas that didn't believe that he had the authority to be giving orders anymore, that perhaps it was better if Risa maintained her position as a leader.

Despite all that Dean said, though, Cas knew that that wasn't going to happen. Cas was kept on the list despite not doing anything useful for the last six weeks, and he knew that Dean did that to make sure everyone remembered what the score was. While Dean was  _The Leader_ , and others variously described themselves as _Record-Keeper,_   _Cook_ , _Medic_ , or whatever the case may be, Cas had no title of any kind. He certainly wasn't one of the “grunts” and was not really even referred to as a soldier. It was curious, really. No labels ever quite stuck to Cas, his presence and role in the camp somewhat ill-defined, and yet everyone did as he told them and was completely aware that the second in command after Dean was, and always would be,  _Castiel Winchester_.

Cas never understood why he needed a last name, and technically he didn't. It just made things a little simpler to administrate for Chuck and everyone else if he could be recorded in that way. And, certainly, no other surname had occurred to him. Dean had never said anything about Cas's use of his surname, but Cas suspected that Dean actually kind of liked it – that Cas had Dean's name branding him, similar to how Dean had Cas's handprint branding  _him_. There was a streak of possessiveness in them both, to be sure.

A draft of cold air disturbed them as the door opened and Dean marched into the room. He shrugged off his jacket, greeting Azaria with a curt nod. Cas leaned back against the foot of the bed, acutely aware of Azaria watching them both, scrutinising their behaviour and their interactions. “Hey baby,” Cas said casually, and he could see Dean roll his eyes at the nickname as he kicked off his boots. “Are you staying?”

“I live here,” Dean replied, gruffly, passing Cas without looking at him and climbing onto the bed.

“I should be going...” Azaria muttered, awkwardly getting to her feet and leaving Cas's coat behind her on the floor. Cas shrugged and got up, limping over to the door to see her out and bid her goodnight. She wouldn't look at Dean and wouldn't meet Cas's eyes, and just like that she was gone. She'd been  _gone_  the second Dean stepped into the room.

Dean, meanwhile, had picked the lamp up off the floor to rest beside the bed and was reading a book as if nothing was wrong. Cas limped back over to the bed and climbed on, crawling up next to Dean. “What are you reading?”

“Tom Clancy,” Dean replied. Cas scoffed and settled to lie down next to him. Dean added, “It's Rainbow Six. It's about a soldiers fighting to thwart a plot to end the world with germ warfare.” Dean shrugged. “I guess you could say I  _relate_.”

“Oh,” Cas replied, seeing why that could be interesting. Though just at the moment he rather lacked the ability to sustain interest in anything properly, simultaneously feeling maddeningly bored but having no inclination to actually do anything.

Abruptly, Dean put the book down and shifted down the bed to lie on his side half on top of Cas, imposing himself in Cas's personal space, changing the tone drastically. “Planning to fuck that girl on our bed, were you Cas?”

Cas laughed and looked up at Dean, lightly trailing his fingers through Dean's hair, not scared or intimidated by him in the least. “Her name is Azaria.”

Dean pressed a hand to the centre of Cas's chest, able to feel the heat of his body through his thin, loose cotton shirt, despite the cold weather outside and the fact that it wasn't that much warmer in the cabin. “You weren't expecting me to come back?”

“Not really, no.” Cas replied. As it was, Dean had been gone a while – long enough...

“So when I broke up your little party, were you disappointed?”

“That depends,” Cas mused, “on whether you've realised how right I am.”

Dean broke into a smile, something like genuine amusement shining through. Not so long ago, Dean had drunkenly admitted to Cas that no one else ever made him smile anymore – but Cas was different from everyone else. Cas infuriated him, defied him, stood up to him. Because someone had to.

Dean's reply was short and simple yet it conveyed so much of what was wrong with him, “I can do this, Cas.”

“I know.” Cas pushed Dean off him and sat up. “Let's be clear,” he began, suddenly feeling as if he was speaking with great moral authority, “what you're proposing is torture...”

“Come on, Cas, we work over demons we capture all the time.”

“Yes but this is...” Cas clenched his jaw, remembering Dean's detached and disinterested tone as he had described to Cas and Bobby how he intended to modify cells in a nearby abandoned prison to trap demons, and then keep them there to torture them. None of the other members of the camp knew about the torture, just  _interrogation_. “This is  _institutionalised_  torture,” Cas concluded.

“Torture is torture, isn't it?” Dean shrugged. “There was a time, Cas, when  _you_  would have laid into  _me_  for caring about any of that stuff.”

Cas stiffened. “I've changed.”  _All I've got to say for myself is my humanity_.

“Tell me about it,” Dean muttered. “Well I'm sorry, Cas, but I can't afford to care anymore. Don't you get it? It's no different from what I've already been doing, except it might actually work better because I'd have more time. More... resources.”

“I won't allow it,” Cas insisted. Having let Dean return to the way they would  _work over_  demons they captured was bad enough...

“Oh, you won't  _allow_  it?” Dean seemed amused, incredulous. “I'm the leader here, and I don't remember giving you a veto.”

“Well perhaps you should have,” Cas replied, tersely.

“Plenty of other people in the camp see my point,” Dean added quickly. “Risa thinks I'm right.”

Cas laughed – sharply, briefly, and bitterly – and said nothing.

A moment passed in strained silence. Cas was sure that Dean knew that he had made a somewhat meaningless argument; the opinions of people who didn't know all of the details was hardly of any relevance.

Cas didn't  _want_  to torture demons, and it disturbed him no end that the people the demons possessed were aware of what was going on – but he considered himself better able to cope with the whole thing than Dean. Dean was still haunted by the spectre of what he had done in Hell, whereas Cas wasn't. Cas could compartmentalise. He wanted to protect Dean from this entirely, he wanted to volunteer himself. He didn't quite manage to say any of that, though they had had the conversation before. Cas just said, “No one else truly knows what you're talking about, Dean. And I don't think they should. We shouldn't involve anyone else in this. We don't even tell anyone else where the place is. Just you and me.”

“And if we're not around?”

“Then that's just too bad.”

Dean sighed exasperatedly. Cas added, “And besides, no one else could give the location away, if they were, you know, tortured for the information.”

“Yeah...” Dean conceded.

“And we're not going to start keeping lots of demons there long term.”

“Why not?”

“Because...” Cas paused. “Because then we would essentially be running a concentration camp, Dean.”

Dean sighed wearily. “So? They're demons.”

“ _Dean_.” Cas stared at him, hard, and Dean knew that Cas was not going to let this go.

“Fine,” Dean sighed and lay back down. “Not too many, not too long...”

This time Cas moved to lay at Dean's side, propped up on one arm and looking down at him. He slipped his fingers under Dean's plaid button-down, ghosting lightly over the surface of the t-shirt he wore underneath. “I believe that this is what well-adjusted adults call a  _compromise_...” 

“I wouldn't know,” Dean replied, with a small, wry smile. He pulled Cas in for a kiss, his hand cool and soothing on the back of Cas's neck. “Are you stoned right now?”

“No.”

Dean looked into his eyes carefully and thought for a moment. “I hate arguing with you, Cas,” he sighed. “Let's just go to bed, we can work out the details of all this tomorrow... when you're sober...”

Cas let that go. He didn't consider himself “stoned”, an expression he still didn't understand, but he wasn't all that sober, either. He felt incredibly tense and alert, but at the same time, the world around him seemed somewhat detached, and had the uncanny sensation that he was occupying some kind of museum or simulation. He got the idea into his head and became quite distracted by it, staring at the wall for a moment until Dean hit him on the arm with an exasperated sound and told him to go put out the candles.

Just as they did every night in the cold of winter they both exchanged their grubby jeans for sweatpants before going to bed, and Cas put the candles out and returned there. Cas took a moment to stretch, clasping his hands together behind him, in front of him, raising them above his head. He knew that Dean was watching him, that doing this in front of Dean served as a tacit invitation. Dean shifted on the bed to come and sit behind him, massaging Cas's back for him. Cas let out a few small sounds of pleasure at the relief it provided, feeling the tension dissipate under Dean's hands.

Cas had to stretch frequently, and generally needed Dean to do this too to ease the dull ache in his back. In human terms, there was nothing wrong with him, but in angel terms, he was accustomed to being able to feel his wings and couldn't anymore. It seemed bizarre that they could just  _vanish_ , and even Cas couldn't wrap his head around the physics involved in the idea that they could have “faded away” as his grace had. But they did seem to be gone, apart from the pain they left behind.

This little ritual had started out as a chore for them, but over time had become something that they both kind of enjoyed. It wasn't inherently an act of foreplay but it was often the case that once Dean has his hands on Cas he was reluctant to remove them.

Cas knew he was lucky to have this; he hated having to sleep every night but at least he slept next to someone who loved him and took care of him. Dean and Cas had spent so many nights together now that it was routine, commonplace; they were so completely relaxed and comfortable with each other like this that sleeping alone, when that happened, actually felt acutely strange wrong to both of them.

The first time had been around 18 months ago, in July 2012: the night that Dean heard about Detroit. They always referred to incident, on the rare occasions they referred to it at all, simply as  _Detroit_ , never as  _Sam_  or  _Lucifer_  or  _Sam saying Yes to Lucifer in Detroit_.

Dean had been quiet. For at least two hours after hearing the news, he hadn't said a word.

He and Cas were sharing a motel room with two beds. Cas had been at a bizarre point in his transition. Heaven was on the defensive, and in retreat from Lucifer and his demons, and that left Cas completely cut off and with very little power. Cas didn't need to sleep, and didn't yet have the  _ability_  to sleep, and yet he did get tired. For the past several months, while he and Dean hunted together, they had stayed in motel rooms with two beds. While Dean went to sleep, Cas would lie down and close his eyes, resting for a while.

But that night, after  _Detroit_ , Cas couldn't imagine that either of them were going to be able to rest.

Dean sat in front of the TV drinking beer, but Cas knew that he wasn't watching it, and probably wasn't even registering what was on the screen at all. Cas was scared. He had seen Dean angry and upset before – seen Dean beat the crap out of something they were hunting, seen him smash things up, even unload rounds from his gun into some inanimate object. But Cas had never seen Dean like this. Dean was so quiet, so still, as whatever he was going through went so far beyond devastation and fear that he wasn't able to come up with an appropriate reaction.

Cas got down to his shirt and pants, as he had got in the habit of doing, and left his other clothes in a pile by the side of the bed so that they were easily retrievable if they had to leave in a hurry. Cas lay on top of the covers, just as Dean did at night time, unless it was exceptionally cold.

He had lain there for a while before he heard Dean get up, leaving the TV on, and coming over to sit on the other bed, just watching Cas, thinking. At that point, Cas knew what he wanted. He wanted to give Dean the affection he needed; he wanted to hold him and kiss him and... Well, they had never got further than that. They had actually kissed twice before; once while very very drunk and once up against an alley wall in the middle of a heated argument. After both occasions, Dean made it abundantly clear that it  _never happened_  and Cas was never to speak of it. So Cas didn't speak of it. But he would look at Dean even more intently than before, and sometimes would catch Dean looking at him, too.

But to in any way take advantage of all that on that night would have been tasteless in the extreme. Cas had turned his back out of respect for Dean's privacy, but he hoped that Dean would still know that Cas was available to talk, if that was what Dean wanted.

It wasn't.

In a measured, controlled sort of way, Dean climbed onto the bed, pulled Cas by the shoulder to roll him onto his back and then crawled on top of him. “Cas, I need you,” was all he said before pressing his body against Cas and capturing his lips in a kiss. He didn't quite look Cas in the eye when he said it, but Cas knew that it was completely true nevertheless.

And Cas wasn't surprised at all. He knew that it had been a matter of time before the sexual tension between them finally snapped. Since the kisses that  _never happened_  it had been palpable to the point of being insufferable. Cas wanted this and needed this, and he knew that Dean felt the same.

Cas wasn't nervous, either. Dean had finally succeeded in getting Cas an experience with a woman a long time ago, and Cas had got a few of his own since then without even telling Dean about it. Apparently, in this form he was attractive enough to women, as long as he didn't say anything stupid. The apocalypse seemed to help, imbuing people with a  _seize the day_  mentality which translated easily into thinking that one-night-stands were a good idea.

But Cas had never been with another man. That was territory he was unfamiliar with, so he let Dean take the lead, let Dean take whatever he needed, as Cas was more than happy to give it. When Dean got between Cas's legs he paused to meet Cas's eyes in search of approval, consent, and Cas gave it. He had enough angel mojo for simple telekinesis, like getting lube and a condom from amongst Dean's things without either of them having to leave the bed and interrupt this fragile moment. The first time with Dean was seared into Cas's memory; the sheer force of the thrill and the  _relief_  when Dean entered him for the first time, how this didn't feel like it was changing their relationship, just consummating what they already had.

Neither of them spoke, but with Cas's every touch he hoped to say  _I'm here for you_ , with his every kiss  _I love you_ , and with every moan  _I need you, too_. Dean wasn't rough, but he was insistent, and his desperation and loneliness soon became all too apparent, the way he would bury his face in the crook of Cas's neck, the way his fingers would clutch at Cas's skin hard enough to leave bruises. And if Dean was surprised that he wasn't exactly getting the  _shy virginal Castiel_  that he might have imagined, then he didn't show it. The two of them surrendered themselves to each other; it was fast, needy and inelegant, but it was, without a doubt, making love.

Afterwards, Dean rested his head on Cas's chest and stayed there, still completely wordless. Cas stroked his hair for a while, using what little was left of his grace to lull Dean to sleep, though doing so weakened him. That was the first night that Cas slept, and he did so hopelessly tangled up with Dean physically and emotionally.

From then on, apart from Dean's occasional bouts of denial, they both just seemed to accept that this was the nature of their relationship without discussing it. Too much other stuff was happening for introspective examinations of one's sexuality and feelings. They would go everywhere together, they started staying in motel rooms with one bed, and they took pleasure from each other every chance they got.

Shortly after Lucifer acquired his true vessel the other angels seemed to disappear; Castiel felt the last link his grace had to Heaven snap, and he was left alone on Earth, alone except for Dean. Castiel's power drained away and, trapped in his vessel, he became practically human. As the world went to hell and Croatoan spread like wildfire, he and Dean, each being all the other had left, got into a routine of mutual trust co-operation.

 _Dean and Castiel against the world_.

A few weeks after  _Detroit_ , they discovered Camp Chitaqua, already occupied by a desperate band of survivors under siege by demons. Dean and Cas had led a few others in taking those demons out and chasing them off.

The Impala had not survived the battle, and, finding themselves sort of trapped at the camp (for Dean would not leave his  _baby_ ) they had helped to work out ways to guard and defend it, and somehow or another they found themselves leading the hap-hazard little community.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and somehow, they just never left. Camp Chitaqua had been poorly organised at first, but it steadily came together as everyone adjusted to their roles in the camp and adjusted to each other. Dean and Cas had the natural authority and expertise to be regarded as the leaders. Cas was always at Dean's side, to fight with him, to work with him, to help him to make decisions.

It wasn't always perfect, by any means – there were numerous arguments and they were known to occasionally spend some time apart to let off steam, which may or may not involve sleeping with someone else just for the hell of it, not that they ever spoke to each other about what went on while they were apart. It didn't matter, though. No one had, or ever would have, the connection that existed between Dean and Cas. They always went back to each other, and even when they were apart, they were still  _together_.

And now, well over a year into their stay at Camp Chitaqua in this little cabin, this bed, Dean was a reassuring presence next to Cas in the dark as they pulled the covers up over themselves, shutting out the cold. Cas was relieved when Dean chose to pull him closer and curl around him, chest against Cas's back, and it felt as if they naturally fitted together perfectly. Cas settled into a comfortable position and his breath hitched when Dean's hand on his hip pulled him back, so his ass was nestled against Dean's crotch. “You're always so warm, Cas...” Dean murmured as his fingers trailed up to Cas's waist and under his shirt, and Cas took a sharp gasp at the feeling of Dean's cool fingers moving lightly over his skin.

Cas sighed and felt the tension leave his body as he pushed himself back against Dean while Dean's fingers steadily mapped out his torso. Dean always knew exactly how Cas liked to be touched, how to give him what he needed, and how to tease him by withholding it. Other people could be a lot of fun, certainly, but no one else made Cas feel like this; the giddy excitement that made his heart flutter in his chest and his breathing fast and shallow, carrying out the occasional whimper and soft moan that Dean loved so much, combined inexplicably with the the slow building of tension in the pit of his stomach, spreading itself out steadily through the rest of his body. It wasn't even just about sex, or how exactly Dean touched him, but it was the way that Dean was so attuned to him, so able to understand Cas and respond to him. Cas couldn't understand it empirically; he just knew that the humans called it having  _chemistry_.

Dean's hand settled on Cas's hip as his lips were on the back of Cas's neck, and he left a little bite at the juncture with Cas's shoulder as he pulled Cas back tight against him. Through the sweatpants, Cas could feel Dean's arousal pressing against him. As Dean's fingers worked on the hem of Cas's pants, slowly pushing them down. Cas rhythmically ground his hips back, earning him a low moan and insistent hands pushing his pants and underwear down more urgently. Cas raised his hips and pushed them down, shuffling them down his legs and kicking them off.

Dean pushed his pants and underwear down around his thighs and pressed himself against Cas again, a hot rush of skin-on-skin this time making them both pause to take a breath. Cas tried to turn around, tried to touch Dean, but Dean wouldn't have it. Dean shushed him and told him to stay still as his fingers grazed lightly over Cas's hardening cock, trailing down to fondle his balls, taking his time. Dean wasn't usually this bossy and Cas wondered whether Dean was in the mood for them to play at fighting each other for control, but Cas knew him pretty well by this point and concluded that that wasn't the case.

It seemed like all Dean wanted was to press himself tightly to Cas and touch him. Dean's fingers wrapped around Cas's cock moved slowly at first, stroking him almost lazily, letting the tension in Cas's body build up gradually. If this was what Dean wanted then Cas could certainly oblige; lying there and letting himself focus on the sensations he was getting from Dean as his hand sped up, making Cas buck his hips into Dean's hand and back against his cock.

After a moment Dean slowed down and then temporarily removed his hand, and Cas bit his lip to keep in the needy, mewling sound that threatened to escape. Dean used his hand to guide his own erection, sliding the leaking tip down the cleft of Cas's ass and then back up, so there was at least a little lubrication there. Apparently,  _mercifully_ , satisfied with this, Dean returned his hand to Cas's cock again, holding tighter this time and stroking from base to tip, varying his pace a little but never breaking it, flicking his wrist to give just the slightest twisting motion.

Cas moaned and wanted to do something more to reciprocate, reaching back to touch Dean's hip, feeling the tension beneath Dean's skin as the other man rocked against him. Cas slid his hand back further, Dean's ass was so firm and taut that he fought to get a firm grip as his fingers kneaded the flesh, until he went further, fingers slipping into the cleft of Dean's ass and taking a firm hold of him there.

“Fuck, Cas...” Dean breathed hard against Cas's neck and sped up the movement of his hand, making Cas moan and feel the tension building in the pit of his stomach. Cas had been half expecting Dean to take out his general frustration on him and fuck him into the mattress, but apparently Cas was wrong. He loved how he could know Dean so well and still be wrong. Most of the time Dean was like this; attentive, gentle, loving.

And  _effective_. Cas was steadily getting closer and Dean didn't seem to be inclined to take things any further than this. He pressed himself tight against Cas's ass and rocked with him, pressing his lips to Cas's neck and moaning against his skin. “Cas...” Dean kissed the sensitive skin just behind Cas's ear and then sucked at his earlobe.

“Dean,” Cas bit his lip and ground his hips back against Dean, feeling Dean's cock slide along the cleft of his ass. “Dean, you're going to make me come...”

Dean smiled against his skin. “That's the idea, Cas.”

Cas let go of Dean's ass and twisted himself around just enough to be able to kiss him, holding the back of Dean's head. Dean's lips were soft against his own, giving him small, fast kisses in between frantic breaths. Cas broke away and settled on his side again, panting and grinding his ass back erratically, grasping at the pillow with his hands. Dean chuckled slightly, his voice low in Cas's ear. “Love it when you wriggle around like this Cas...”

“Hmm...”

“It's the cutest thing.”

“Oh, shut up,” Cas groaned, tilting his head back and feeling Dean lean over him, dragging his tongue over the stubble on Cas's neck.

Cas grabbed the towel just at the side of the bed, and Dean knew that he was close. He increased the speed of his hand, and rocked harder against Cas. “That's it Cas,” Dean murmured, “come for me.” Cas couldn't help the whimper that escaped him as he fell over the edge, moaning insensibly as the climax finally hit him, shocks of pleasure shooting through his body.

Still on a high, trembling and out of breath, Cas cleaned himself off and immediately span around to lie facing Dean. Cas so wanted to kiss him, he crashed their lips together and pushed his tongue into Dean's mouth even though it meant that he could barely breathe, quickly taking Dean's cock in his hand and holding it firmly, giving Dean fast, long strokes.

Dean held Cas close, both arms around him, repeating Cas's name between kisses. Dean got most of his pleasure from getting someone else off, so it was only a couple of minutes before he was close, pressing his forehead against Cas's, his eyes screwed shut. “Cas–” Dean gasped as he came, bucking his hips and coming into Cas's hand, crashing their lips together in feverish, breathless kisses.

Suddenly unbearably warm, as they still had their shirts on, Dean pushed the covers down and fell onto his back, forearm slung over his eyes. Cas's eyes roved over him, his broad chest rising and falling quickly, head thrown back. When Dean opened his eyes to look at Cas, Cas kept eye contact while bringing his hand to his mouth and licking Dean's come off his fingers. Dean swore and threw his head back again, breaking into a smile.  _He's beautiful like this_  – the thought struck Cas, just as it did every time.

Cas positioned himself over Dean, leaning down and kissing him deeply, wanting Dean to taste himself. Dean mumbled something about Cas being a  _kinky son-of-a-bitch_  into the kiss, and pulled Cas down until he was lying at Dean's side with one arm over him.

After a moment of getting their breath back, Dean tugged at his shoulder until Cas was lying with his head on Dean's chest, settling down on top of him. They basked in the afterglow like that for a long time, sleep gradually washing over them both, cooling down until eventually the blanket was pulled back up to Cas's shoulders. Dean's fingers were in Cas's hair, running through it, tousling it.

“I didn't mean what I said about you, Cas.”

“Hmm...” Cas was listening, though was half asleep and kept his eyes closed, his head still on Dean's chest, still recalling all too well how Dean had described him as  _useless_.

Dean didn't say anything else; it was hard for him to communicate, even to Cas, even in the dark, even after they had sex. They had their own non-verbal understanding now, after all these years. Actions, gestures – and being especially attentive and taking the lead in bed was the closest Dean got to saying sorry. Cas held him more tightly and pulled down the collar of his shirt just enough to plant a kiss on his chest to convey that he had understood, and they settled down to sleep. 


	2. Purple Haze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of drug use but this is endverse so you probably saw that coming

Drugs were the only thing that got Cas close to what he once knew.

Nothing could replace the intimacy of what Dean called  _angel radio_ , nothing could could give him back the thousand or so extra senses Cas used to have and his ability to process them, nothing could give him back his feeling of constancy and power.

But drugs – amphetamines, sometimes hallucinogenics – they expanded reality. It didn't matter that it was all just false reality; the result of his human brain firing off all kinds of chemicals in extreme doses and bizarre combinations. It didn't matter.

Because it didn't hurt the way that reality hurt.

Reality was stifling for Castiel. It was so limiting. It was bad enough that he had to waste a quarter of his time sleeping. But then when he woke up in the morning, he had a vaguely unpleasant taste in his mouth, he had to pee, and he was hungry. This was how far Castiel had fallen. It was pathetic and pitiable to him.

Of course, he didn't always feel that way. There were times that he was happy; when he was with Dean, when he got to eat a decent meal. There was pleasure to be had as a mortal, to be sure, and a sense in which all the shit that went with it served to make the pleasure even more rewarding when it came.

But it wasn't enough. Nothing could ever be enough. Nothing could fill the void inside Cas left by the departure of his grace and angelic power. And that in itself was not so much a departure as a gradual fading; it had drained out of him, slowly and painfully dying like a mortal thing.

And what was worse, Cas had had little to do in his long convalescence after breaking his foot. He had been drinking heavily long before that injury, and had taken drugs a few times. But since he had had the excuse of being in pain gifted to him, Cas had indulged himself more and more.

He hated how weak he was, how this injury crippled him - which made Bobby understandably furious and got Dean to lecture Cas about how lucky he was. Cas had got this injury by jumping out of a second floor window (long story) and it was so severe that in the case of most humans it would probably have meant amputation. But that didn't make Cas feel any better. He didn't want to be compared to  _most humans_. He was an angel. Compared to the towering inferno of multi-dimensional raw power that he used to be, he was still nothing.

Cas thought he had been upset about a year previously when Dean had convinced him to get an anti-possession tattoo on his chest just like his, and Cas had felt sick at the thought that he could need such a thing. No one was clear on whether he truly did need it or not, but Cas was so close to being a human that it wasn't worth taking a chance. Sustaining human injuries just hammered that home even more. Cas was now nothing more than 170 pounds of fragile, feeble,  _stuff_ , and he hated it. Before the injury he had kept quiet about that fact, but after it, he had made that feeling abundantly clear; he made his  _disgust_  clear.

Dean, in equal parts furious, exasperated and hurt, had left for a whole two weeks and refused to speak to him. Azaria had stepped in to care for Cas, which in a way helped Cas a lot; because he didn't want Dean to see him like this. He didn't want to be cared for at all, but especially not by Dean. Not by the man he pulled out of Hell, the man he used to be able to protect.

But now the pain of this injury was virtually gone, and the pills were more to do with helping Cas avoid reality – the reality of his humanity and the reality of the shitty situation he was in. His foot was still bandaged up, but he could put weight on it for a few steps now, and could get around much better on his own. His faithful excuse was abandoning him.

A couple of weeks had passed since he and Dean had reached their compromise about the torture of demons. Christmas came and went. A number of people made the same tired jokes about angels and Christmas trees that had made Cas wish he still had the power to smite.

By way of a gift, Dean had given Cas an ornate Buddha statue that he had "found" somewhere or other along with a book of the Buddha's teachings – because he knew that Cas was far more interested in those ideas these days than he was in god or angels.

Cas had given Dean a ring – simple but with a little indented detailing around each edge – real, silver, very nice and very valuable. Dean didn't need to know that Cas had got it off a corpse. It  _was_  a wedding ring, but Dean didn't quite go so far as to wear it as such. He put it on the ring finger of his right hand, taking off the old silver ring he had worn there and giving it to Cas. Cas had to wear it around his middle finger, and even then it was a little loose. That ring was old and had been Dean's for a long time, the metal dulled and marred with scratches, with one deep groove in it from when Dean had had to grab hold of a knife by the blade several months ago. It immediately became the most important thing Cas owned.

The whole business of exchanging rings alone together in their cabin had made Cas stupidly happy, and Dean too had been unable to keep the smile off his face that night. They both knew the meaning associated with the ritual, though they didn't say anything about it. They had got drunk together and stayed up most of the night making love, not even caring how tired and hungover they were the next day.

The holiday of Christmas was celebrated more traditionally by some in the camp, though Cas and Dean couldn't afford to take downtime for it. The day after it, they went out to the abandoned prison to establish it as a place where demons could be tortured, laying down devil's traps and salt so that none could get in or out.

The other members of the camp seemed to be evenly split between those who didn't know what Dean and Cas were doing, and those who simply tried not to think about it. Cas had been furious for days now about how people could be so cowardly, so afraid to face up to or even speak of the reality of the situation – then he realised his own hypocrisy, considering how stoned he generally was, and quite suddenly stopped being angry. He stopped being angry about Dean torturing, and he stopped being angry about other people not being fazed by it. In Cas's more sober moments, he questioned whether he had accepted this all as being an unfortunate necessity, or whether his emotions had just been beaten down by life and he didn't have the strength to care anymore.

Dean had been gone on a mission for three days with a few others, Risa among them. Cas pretended that he didn't care, though in truth it made him feel sick whenever he thought about the amount of time Dean was spending with her.

The only thing that Cas was conscious of when Dean returned home was wanting to have Dean in his alternate reality bubble with him. Everything looked fuzzy and strange and Cas wasn't quite sure of what was going on around him – not to the point of hallucinating, but at the point of not being certain of which things were real and which things were not. He wanted to escape it all, but he didn't want to go without Dean.

The first thing Cas had said when Dean had walked through the door had been an offer of drugs, to which Dean had rolled his eyes and pointedly refused, but Cas didn't give up and leave him alone.

"It opens the door of total perception," Cas explained. "Not really, not the way I had when I was an angel, but everything is –  _more_..."

"Jesus, Cas," Dean turned away from him and tried to busy himself with scrubbing the blood out of his jacket. "You're higher than Hendrix."

"I don't know who that is..." Cas snaked his arms around Dean's waist and leaned against his back. Dean sighed in exasperation. Cas told him, "I can hear your heart beating."

"Well that's reassuring," Dean snapped wearily. "Now let go of me."

"No, Dean, you don't understand," Cas had to pause for a moment to laugh, forehead pressed to Dean's back. "It's not just that I can hear it – I can feel it too – sense it. Because you and I, Dean, we share a profound bond–"

"Awesome," Dean tried to unclasp Cas's arms from where they crossed on his stomach.

"You don't understand, Dean. When I pulled you out of Hell, you carry, since then, you carry a part of my grace you–" Cas laughed again. "Hell, at this point maybe you carry more of it than  _I_  do. But I can feel it," Cas went on, trailing one hand down to Dean's crotch, no longer at all sure of what he was saying, "I want to share this perception with you–"

" _Cas_ ," Dean insisted, breaking free of Cas's grip and holding him by the wrists. "How much have you  _taken_?"

Cas struggled to focus on Dean; he was strikingly real to Cas – the only real thing in the room – and yet at the same time he seemed to blur at the edges, slipping out of the grasp of Cas's vision whenever Cas tried to focus on him. It was making him dizzy.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered, at seeing the glazed and unfocused look of Cas's eyes. Dean guided Cas to sit down on the bed. "Drink some water."

Dean sat next to him and sighed heavily while Cas stared into his glass of water, tapping on the side of it and watching the ripples make their way across its surface.

"Cas, if you care about the mission I just got back from, we got some new recruits, though fuck all else. Took a demon over to that jail, but couldn't get anything out of her. She didn't know anything."

"Of course I care, Dean," Cas replied, though he continued to stare at the ripples, transfixed.

"Guy named Matt, chick named Jane, came back here. There used to be a lot more of them but the place they were saying got overrun with croats. So I said they could come stay here. And I was  _hoping_ ," Dean said, pointedly, "that maybe you'd go see them, set them up with places to live, explain the way we do things here at the camp. But seeing as you're stoned out of your damn mind, I guess I'll go and do that, too."

Cas turned to look at Dean, realising that the hunter was tired – exhausted, in fact. "I can still go," Cas assured him.

Dean just scoffed. "Like hell. You stay here."

Cas downed the rest of the water and let himself fall back to the bed, the ceiling racing ahead above him in a most nauseating fashion. "I'll stay here, Dean." Cas stated, descending into sarcasm. "I'll stay here patiently waiting for you to come back. Maybe I'll clean and bake you a pie, and when you come home I'll get you a beer and then you can fuck me."

Dean laughed in spite of himself. "Dammit Cas, don't say stuff like that. We've been over this. You're not...  _mine_ , or whatever..."

"I'll go with you," Cas sat up suddenly. "I get bored of being here doing nothing. I don't enjoy it, you know – being  _kept_  by you. Being a burden you're stuck with."

"You are not a burden, Cas..." Dean ran his hand over his mouth in exasperation and they argued for a few minutes before Dean reluctantly agreed to let Cas accompany him.

Cas took one crutch with him, letting that arm take some of his weight, holding onto Dean's arm with his other hand for balance more than anything else.

As soon as Cas got outside, he started to sober up; something about the fresh air and sunlight getting through to him despite the drug-induced haze. No matter how much Cas took he never seemed to be quite out of it, not the way other people could be. It was just another layer of this cruel punishment; not enough angel left in him for him to notice, but not fully human enough to dose himself into oblivion either.

Fortunately, they didn't have to go far before finding Chuck, clipboard in hand, talking to two people Cas didn't recognise, who were clearly the newcomers. The man, Matt, was in his late 40s and every inch an obvious ex-soldier – from the way he held himself and the way he held his gun, to his camo pants and buzz-cut grey hair. Jane, conversely, was in her late 20s with a short mess of black hair, and she too had a confident disposition. Cas wondered, disinterestedly, what she had been before being hardened by the apocalypse. 

"Matt, Jane," Dean called brusquely as he and Cas slowly approached. "You okay here?"

"Yeah," Jane replied, speaking with a watered down sort of accent that might have originally been Australian. "Chuck was just telling us about where we might stay here."

Chuck looked at them apologetically, "I mean, we don't really have many free cabins, but if you don't mind sharing... maybe with each other, or...?"

Jane laughed a little, though the smile didn't reach her eyes. When she spoke, it was with a deep-seated sadness that she was trying to push down and talk over. "Matt and I don't actually know each other that well. We just got thrown together out there, you know. No offence, mate."

"None taken," Matt nodded. "Who's this?" He asked, eyeing Cas suspiciously.

"My name is Castiel," Cas replied.

"The angel?" Matt's eyes widened.

"Ah, I see you've heard of me..." Cas swayed a little and Dean had to hold him up by the waist.

Matt scowled. "Is he stoned or something?"

"He's..." Dean hesitated, "he's on a lot of pain medication. You know, for his foot."

"Angels need pain medication?"

"This one does," Cas answered. Then, turning to Dean, "Thanks, Dean, but you don't have to lie for me..."

"Come on," Dean interrupted, getting Cas to turn around to return to their cabin. "Chuck, can you take care of this?"

"Sure thing," Chuck replied, peering at his clipboard. In co-operation with a woman named Allison, Chuck was reasonably good at running the camp and sorting out this sort of thing. Chuck did tend to be a bit of a slacker every once in a while, but he had Allison to kick him into line when necessary. He would sometimes drink too much, but that could be said for virtually everyone, and he seemed determined enough to make a useful contribution to make himself work at it. He could be left to deal with Matt and Jane.

"Wait!" Jane ran in front of them, shooting a sidelong glance at Cas before addressing Dean. "Please," she looked deeply into Dean's eyes, "please, my sister's still out there. We have to look for her."

"And we will," Dean assured her. "But you haven't seen her in days. If we're gonna look, then we need to be smart about it. We can't just go wandering through hot-zones with no intel, especially not right now. And I don't know about you, but I haven't slept in two days. Going out tired is a fine way to get yourself killed, and be no good to anybody. But I swear to you, I will do everything I can to find her. I swear it."

Jane nodded, a few tears escaping her as she resigned herself to staying at the camp, and the fact that they may very well never find her sister.

* * *

 

When they got back to the cabin, Dean collapsed on the bed, exhausted, and slept for about an hour. Cas lay next to him and watched, understanding why Dean had refused the offer of taking anything. He had probably already been running on amphetamines for the past few days, and everyone needed to crash eventually and sleep to recover.

Cas was still as high as a proverbial kite, but he could feel himself gradually sinking back into reality. He dozed off for a little while, only to be woken by a knock at the rear door. Dean and Cas were generally in demand from several people at once in the day, and it was practically a miracle that they had managed to catch even an hour.

Cas got up wearily, leaving Dean asleep, and limped through to the other room, which was a kitchen of sorts, so that he could answer the rear door. A knock at that door probably meant that it was Bobby seeing as he was obviously not able to get up the steps out the front. Sure enough, Bobby waited outside, Chuck standing behind him with his hands on the back of the wheelchair.

"Bad news," Bobby began. Cas laughed slightly, and Bobby went on, gruffly, "You really need to get your act together, boy. World's ending. This ain't no time to puff the magic dragon."

"I think," Cas leaned on the doorframe, cocking his head to one side, "that the end of the world is the perfect time to... the magic... thing you said."

"Cas, I had a vision," Chuck interjected. "I passed out in the rations cabin. I think it freaked out Matt and Jane a little..."

"So," Bobby said pointedly, "can we talk inside or are you gonna make us stay out here like a couple of Jehovah's Witnesses?"

"Dean is asleep..." Cas said quietly, hoping he could stay that way.

"I'm up," Cas turned around at the sound of Dean's voice behind him, stumbled and nearly fell over – but Dean caught him with a frustrated sigh and essentially dragged him over to a chair. "Just stay there," he grumbled, inviting his friends inside.

They settled round the tiny table in the cabin's second room to talk about Chuck's vision. Chuck explained that he had seen Jane's sister Tammy – but wasn't really her. She had been possessed by a demon, and was only a few miles away. And apparently, she knew a demon who knew a demon who knew where the colt was.

Cas watched Dean carefully, his expression neutral as he thought about this. "So, Tammy – or the demon possessing Tammy – is she close now?" Dean asked.

Chuck hesitated. "I'm not sure. It wasn't right now, it was in the future–"

"How do you know?"

"In the vision, it was nearly a full moon, but I don't know whether it was just before or just after..." Chuck replied, to which Dean nodded.

"Then I guess we'll have to go twice," Cas said blithely, which got him a sharp look from Bobby. "The next full moon isn't until the middle of January."

"Plenty of time to plan," Dean nodded.

"Not so much time," Bobby pointed out. "It's January day after tomorrow. 2014."

Dean dropped his gaze to the floor and Cas knew what he was thinking. There was nothing special about 2014, but the fact that it was a new year helped to bring home to them all just how long this shit had been going on.  _Years_  had passed. How many more would there be? Cas realised with a start that he felt, with absolute certainty, that he wasn't going to see 2015, but pushed that to the back of his mind as being nothing but his usual melancholia.

In a way, the most difficult thing about all of this was the slowness of it. The war between the humans on one side, and Lucifer and his demons and croats on the other was one of attrition. There was no climactic battle that had been lost, there were not even any definite strategic positions. The world was just crumbling away before their eyes.

Dealing with Croatoan was technically the government's responsibility, and they classified it as a highly virulent blood-borne disease which caused homicidal insanity. There were research scientists out there working on treatments, cures and vaccines, but of course no such thing would ever be possible without utilising the supernatural. It was called a global pandemic, and the world's governments tried to keep things together and keep things running as much as possible, but it was a Sisyphean task. The rumbling, inevitable systems collapse led not to a sudden apocalyptic end, but to an interminable creeping decline, as everything fractured and disintegrated piece by piece. There was no battening down the hatches and waiting for it to be over, there was only the steady series of adjustments to the gradually unfolding and worsening post-apocalypse status quo.

Dean was the embodiment of that. Cas had taken to addressing him as their  _fearless leader_  in jest at first, because none of this scared him. It was the same thing over and over: killing croats, hunting down demons and  _working them over_  for information, heading out in search of the colt and failing to find it. It was a grinding routine, and that ground them all down almost to machines, going through the motions and doing the same thing over and over, making do, getting through, just dragging themselves along until they got to the end of this, or died trying.

As they calmly discussed what they were going to do, and who they would have in their search parties for Tammy, Dean spoke about potential death tolls and casualty figures as if he were a businessman talking about profit projections. Dean was not afraid because this meant nothing to him.

Cas felt sick. He cleared his throat. "I uh... I have to go." Dean and Bobby looked at him askance, but Chuck, at least, was somewhat sympathetic. Dean just nodded to Cas, as if giving  _permission_ , but the former angel had no time to be pissed about that now.

He got up and limped out of the cabin to get some fresh air, pressing his hand to the harsh, splintered wood for balance as he made his way down the steep, grassy slope to the other end. He made it around the corner, fell to his knees and was sick, concerned only with his wish that no one should hear him and then see him in this state. Cas trembled violently and felt himself start to panic a little; wondering whether he had some terrible human illness, or whether he had ingested too many drugs into this fragile human body and broken it – and what an end that would be for  _Castiel: angel of the lord_. Cas started to laugh a little at the thought, pushing himself back to lie down on the grass.

Then, there was kind of a scene missing, and the next thing that Cas was aware of was the cold, and a light drizzle landing on his face. He opened his eyes and all he could see above him was the uniform grey of the sky.

He stayed there a while until the cold started to really bother him – he only had on his jeans and a loose black t-shirt with some sort of faded and cracked orange design on it for a movie he had never actually seen called  _Back to the Future_.

"Cas?" Cas turned his head to the side to see Dean approaching him, crouching down next to him and looking him over. "Cas... dammit..." Dean sighed and slid one arm under Cas's shoulders to pull him to his feet.

Cas let himself be led back into the cabin, back into the main room where they sat on the bed, even letting Dean drape a blanket over his shoulders. Bobby and Chuck had evidently left in the interim.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dean barked.

"Hmm?"

"With all this, getting so stoned you can't function in the middle of the day. I left you  _in charge_ , Cas. What the fuck have you even been doing?"

"I  _have_  been in charge," Cas said vaguely, which was true, he had been, up until Dean came back. It just so happened that there hadn't been anything particularly demanding for him to be doing while Dean had been gone apart from answering a few people's questions and making sure that the camp was well-guarded. "What do you think, I've been like this the entire time you were gone?"

"I don't know – have you?"

Cas scowled at him, and Dean sighed heavily and sat down on the bed next to him. "I know you've been in pain, okay. I get it. But Cas, this has gotta stop. Capiche?"

Cas stared up at the ceiling. "Yeah, I capiche."

"Do you want to...?"

Cas cocked his head to one side. "Want to what?"

"I dunno –  _talk_  – or whatever?"

Cas slumped forward and clasped his hands together, looking down. "I don't know that that would help."

"Try."

Cas smiled shyly, glad that Dean was trying. The least Cas could do was try too. "I... it's just difficult for me, Dean. All things I used to be able to do – I could protect you from just about anything. And now? I... I can't protect you. If anything, I'm a liability."

"No–"

"I'm pretty useless."

"No," Dean repeated. "We've been over this." Cas raised an eyebrow at him – to say they had  _been over it_  was something of a misrepresentation of what had happened. "You are not useless, okay? I don't want to hear that again."

Cas fidgeted with his hands a little and stared down at them. "Okay," he said softly. "It's just, compared to what I used to be..."

"We all used to be a lot of things we're not anymore. Everyone's lost things, Cas. You had more to lose, I know, but you've still got more than most other people around you." Cas looked at him and Dean explained, "You know, you're strong – a lot stronger than you should be for your size and everything. You recover from injuries that would kill most people, you never get sick. And, well, you do have a short refractory time..."

Cas laughed at that, took Dean's hand. "That's all wonderful," Cas replied, his voiced laced with sarcasm. "But I used to be able to smite demons, heal people, travel to the other side of the world and back almost instantly – Dean, the places I wish I'd taken you..."

Dean tightened his grip on Cas's hand reassuringly. "You know I never did like being zapped around anyway."

"It wasn't  _zapping_ ," Cas replied with a smile. "It was flying, albeit on alternate plane of existence with very different laws of physics. But it occupied the same space-time as this dimension and I could access it at any time to move energy and matter through it and..." he trailed off at the uncomprehending though curious look on Dean's face. "It doesn't matter now."

Dean idly pushed Cas's hair back off his forehead, appearing lost in thought for a moment, asking, "What does matter to you?"

Cas was a little thrown by the question. "You," he replied easily, pausing before adding, "us, this camp, our home."

"Killing Lucifer," Dean added, not quite as a question and not quite as a statement.

Cas sighed. Even if they could kill Lucifer, it would be many years before living standards improved, and sometimes Cas was sorely tempted to just forget the whole thing and make the best of the lives they had in the camp... but Dean would never do that. Dean would never take even a semblance of happiness for himself when he thought he was supposed to put his own life at risk to save everyone else. And, more importantly, Lucifer was wearing Sam. Dean would never stop believing himself solely responsible for Sam – and Cas could only image how it made Dean feel to know that Sam was still in there somewhere, whilst Lucifer wreaked havoc in his form. Dean wanted to free Sam of that, even if it meant killing him.

Finally, Cas replied, "Yes."

"We gotta find the colt first," Dean said, absently, staring at the opposite wall. "That's all that matters."

"All that matters?" There was a tone of uncertainty in Cas's voice; the reply was uttered as a question, but Dean didn't seem to notice and just took it as Cas agreeing with him.

"Okay," Dean took a deep breath. "Whenever the hell I wake up, we talk about this. We try and come up with some new ideas." Cas sighed, and Dean asked, "Oh, unless you got something better to do?"

"Chuck already gave us a lead on a demon, and we're going to go out and find her. Why not just wait until then?"

"Just wait?" Dean repeated, incredulously. "Just sit around here  _waiting_  until it gets near the full moon? What if the demon possessing her doesn't know anything? What if we don't get to her? What–"

" _Dean_ , we've going round in circles for months and getting nowhere."

"You don't think I know that?" Dean replied confrontationally. "You don't think I know that that is exactly the fucking problem?"

"You're missing the point," Cas answered tersely, as they sank into the familiar back-and-forth of their particular kind of argument, as they lived out the same scene again, went through the same motions again.

"Oh,  _right_ –"

"Will you just listen to me?"

"All I  _do_  is listen to you!" Dean snapped. "I've got a stoned angel, an alcoholic prophet, a bitter old man and a bunch of traumatised civilians who are either useless or fixated on personal crusades and revenge – and all of them have got something to  _say_  to me, some great advice..."

Dean trailed off and they sat in strained silence for a moment. Cas broke it, saying softly, sarcastically, "Well, at least  _you're_  better than all that."

Cas found it hard to understand how there could be so much warmth between them – how they could still share these moments of passion, happiness and affection – and yet have it change nothing overall and in the next moment argue like this. It just seemed as though they were stuck in the habit of lashing out at each other.

"Maybe I should go away for a while," Dean suggested.

"No, Dean, you need to rest. If you want me to go I will."

"Fine," Dean replied, kicking his boots off, pulling his legs up onto the bed. "You do that. Go fuck the nurse, or whatever it is you do."

Cas narrowed his eyes at Dean. "You know what she does, but you can't remember her name?"

"I know her damn name," Dean barked, throwing himself to lie down.

Cas shrugged off the blanket, got up and went over to the door, saying, conclusively, "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be outside. I'll wait there." Dean didn't reply, and Cas pulled his trenchcoat on and wrapped it tightly around himself. It would be so easy for Cas to do exactly what Dean had said, but he had no inclination to. No matter what, in that moment, the last thing he wanted to do was anything else that would hurt Dean – and going off with someone else  _would_  hurt Dean no matter how much he re-iterated that he didn't care. Dean would never admit that he  _did_  care. Cas knew he should just stop all of his selfish attempts to get a rise out of Dean. It was childish. He was better than this, Dean deserved better than this. Cas decided that he did need to get his act together.

Cas rested his hand on the door handle. "Dean?" No response. "Dean?"

" _What?_ "

"I've been a dick to you," Cas said simply. "You've been a dick to me too, but, uh..."

"Apology accepted," Dean replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm and fatigue.

Cas pulled open the door, but still hesitated about going.

"Cas, wait." Dean opened his eyes to meet Cas's, propping himself up on one arm, and Cas tentatively pushed the door closed to keep the cold out. "You don't have to go anywhere," Dean conceded. "It's cold out. And raining."

Cas nodded, locking the door, calmly taking his coat off again, genuinely relieved. When he went over to sit on the bed next to Dean, Dean told him, "I am gonna go to sleep, so don't stare at me. But you could, I dunno, read, or whatever." Dean gestured vaguely to the books beside the bed.

Cas looked at them and smiled playfully. "If I read do I have to read Tom Clancy?"

"Oh, screw you," Dean laughed, rolling over to face away from Cas and go to sleep. Cas laughed and leaned down to kiss him on the cheek.

He let Dean sleep a couple of hours before waking him up to drag him down to the mess hall to be sure he ate something. Dean protested due to the fact that he was not good at all at letting anyone else take care of him and scrutinise his habits, or decide for him when he ate, but eventually relented. They didn't talk any further about what they were or weren't going to do, as Cas thought there was no point starting an argument in the evening when probably nothing would be resolved anyway. The question of how to find the colt and find Lucifer remained unsolved.


	3. Miracles out of Nowhere

**3: Miracles out of Nowhere**

Cas couldn't be sure what Dean was thinking, couldn't be sure whether he had reluctantly agreed that they needed to take a breath and regroup before resuming their efforts to search for the colt. They didn't go on any missions for a little while, but this was not something that Dean and Cas decided upon; it was simply that demon signs reduced, and there was very little point in going out. It was quiet.

Quiet, that is, until the camp's satellite dish picked up news of a large-scale demon attack in Jerusalem, led by Lucifer himself. What they were doing over there, no one knew, and Cas was reluctant to even speculate.

So, as they awaited the nearly full moon that Chuck had seen in his vision, Jane was taken out on what were, essentially, fake search parties. They hadn't told her that her sister was almost certainly possessed already, or that Chuck had seen her in a vision. Dean said a couple of times how much he regretted keeping it from her, and then quickly finished his sentence by explaining how essential it was to do so. Seeing as the possessed woman was her sister, they all thought that she was too close to the whole situation and it was therefore best to keep her out of it.

Originally, the first day after Jane and Matt had arrived, Dean had tried to dissuade Jane from going out and looking at all.

“Listen, you might not like what you find–”

“No  _you listen_ , Dean,” Jane had snapped. “I'm not a scared little girl here, okay? I'm a soldier now, just like you. I know my sister might be – probably  _is_  either a croat or possessed by a demon – if she's not dead. So quit talking to me like I'm stupid, quit talking to me as if I haven't been living and fighting in the same post-apocalyptic crap hole as you for the last few years.”

That served to stun Dean into silence for a few seconds, and then he had nodded and looked at her with greatly increased respect. “If she is a croat, or a demon, you might have to kill her.”

“I know,” Jane shot back. “Hell, I hope I do.” Dean's eyes widened at that, so Jane went on, “I know it's not  _her_ , either way. She's gone. I want to lay her to rest, Dean.”

A couple of weeks after that, Cas went out of the camp for the first time in over two months with Dean, Jane and Matt. Cas was able to walk, albeit slowly and with something of a limp, and he knew that he needed to do something useful again soon for the sake of his sanity.

“You stay in the car,” Dean insisted, for the umpteenth time. Cas sighed and leaned out of the open window, holding his gun securely. Cas had longed to leave the camp and do this, but now all he wanted to do was go home and go to bed, maybe forever.

Nothing engaged him. Even when, on one of the earlier times they had pulled over, Dean had put his arm around Cas's shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss, Cas had found himself inexplicably wishing Dean would just leave him alone. He and Dean didn't fight much anymore, but that somehow didn't feel like an improvement.

It was cold out there, and even though Cas was wearing a grey zip up fleece thing under his trenchcoat he could still feel it. Last winter, Cas hadn't felt the cold. He was still falling, still getting weaker. Cas wondered whether perhaps he was ill – this couldn't be how sensitive all humans were to the cold all the time,  _surely_ –

“Cas,” Dean interrupted his thoughts, standing outside the car. “Can you walk?”

“Yes,” Cas replied tersely, throwing open the car door and getting out. He knew he was being unfair to Dean by being so short with him; none of this was Dean's fault.

Dean didn't say anything else, leading Cas around an abandoned grocery store. All these places used to be dangerous – but the goods from this store had been looted long ago, and there had since been a fire which had gutted most of the insides, and bullet holes dotted the walls. “What do you think?” Dean asked. “Any chance of demons hiding in here?”

“Maybe...” Cas looked over the twisted metal frames of fire-damaged shelving units uninterestedly. “There isn't really anywhere to hide in here. And I don't sense anything. But I can be wrong, of course...”

“Hmm...”

Dean and Cas went out the back of the store and climbed a hill, coming up onto a wide open field as they did, blanketed with overgrown grass. The winter day was crisp – the sky clear and bright and the air frozen and still, the sun barely providing any warmth as it gently touched their skin. In one corner of the field, not far away, was an area sectioned off with a low fence with various play equipment and a few benches. It was utterly devoid of children, or any other people, but it was still a park. Cas missed parks.

“Let's go on the swings, Dean.”

Dean looked at him blankly. “Are you serious?”

“I've never done anything like this. Come on, just for a minute.” Cas smiled and gave him a look that he believed was known as the  _puppy eyes_.

Dean sighed and looked around to see whether anyone was approaching, but there was nothing but grass around them. He reluctantly agreed, and a moment later they had hopped over the fence and were sat side by side on the swings.

“I've seen this done countless times,” Cas mumbled, pushing himself back experimentally. Dean laughed and watched as Cas got into a pattern, getting higher and higher. As he swung forward, the gun slung over his back hung off his shoulder only to bump his back every time he moved backwards again.

At first, Dean just watched. But, following another look around to make sure that they were alone, he joined in and began to swing as well.

“Hey Cas,” he called, his face lit up with a smile. “I bet I can get higher than you. For once.”

“You're on!” Cas replied, redoubling his efforts. When he went forward far enough, the chains would slacken and Cas was left with a terrifying lurching sensation, though he soon learned to prevent this by leaning further back, letting the scenery sail past until all he could see was the azure blue sky.

After several minutes of this, their contest apparently forgotten, Dean and Cas both slowed down to catch their breath for a moment. They were out of synch, and the next thing Cas knew, Dean had managed to kick the back of his seat, and then sailed past, laughing.

Cas twisted his seat around to try and retaliate, with his uninjured foot of course, and they became consumed with this childlike game, spinning around on the seats and laughing at each other. For a few moments  _Dean_  shone through; the real, fun-loving, flippant, at times adorably childish Dean that Cas had met and fallen in love with all those years ago. He was still in there, somewhere, beneath the hardened surface, and Cas wasn't sure how he felt about the fact that he was the only person capable of reaching  _Dean_  anymore.

“Nice to see you two having fun on company time.”

Cas heard Matt's voice from behind them, so tipped his head back as he swung forward, seeing him and Jane upside down, steadily walking towards them. “Our company,” Cas called back, slightly out of breath. “Our time.”

“Well,” Jane sighed, “we didn't find any signs of demons being here. You?”

Dean got off the swing and recomposed himself. “No, nothing.”

And awkward silence passed in which Cas glanced up at the sky, which had started to lose some of its brightness. “It's getting dark. We better go home.”

Dean led them back the car then, sitting in the driving seat. Cas let Matt sit in the front seat and retreated to the back, feeling quite fatigued and taking the opportunity to close his eyes and relax somewhat.

Darkness fell as they drove. When Cas awoke from only the shallowest of naps, he noticed that Dean seemed to be getting rather bleary-eyed as he drove, his eyelids falling half closed until he blinked several times and tried to open them wide again.

“You want me to drive for a while?” Cas offered.

Dean glanced back at him. “You don't mind?”

“Nope.” Cas got Matt to open up the glove compartment and get him a bottle of pills.

“What are these?” Matt asked.

“Amphetamines,” Cas replied, matter-of-factly.

Matt scowled, and even once Cas took his place in the driving seat, Matt continued to side-eye him the rest of the way back to camp.

*

On returning to Camp Chitaqua, they held a very brief meeting before going to bed for the night.

Jane was understandably frustrated that they didn't seem to making any progress in finding her sister. “How do you guys go about finding demons, anyway?”

“Usually they come to us,” Cas chuckled. “But not now. They've been quiet, what with this Jerusalem situation. Dean has been looking for demon signs.”

Matt scowled. “At least  _Dean_  has been doing something.”

Cas tilted his head to one side and went to defend himself, but at that moment Dean began speaking to get their attention, and everyone fell silent instantly.

“There's an old hospital a few towns over,” Dean explained, pointing out the exact location on the map. “We're gonna go there next.”

“Why?” Jane asked.

Dean shot her a look. “I've been hunting demons and fighting demons a long time,” he replied evasively, not mentioning Chuck's vision. “That's where we're going next. We got a supply run to do first so we'll go next week.”

Jane shrugged and held up her hand to defer to Dean's expertise.

“We'll have two teams, at least three on each. I'll head one, Cas the other. Matt, you think you can handle a mission into a building like this?”

Cas smiled a little, knowing that because of Dean's phrasing of the question Matt would be highly unlikely to refuse. “Well, I dunno,” Matt said slowly. “Whose team would I be on?”

Dean frowned at him. “Whichever team I put you on.”

“Yeah, okay,” Matt scoffed. “And what if I'm not comfortable being led into battle by your drug-addled concubine over there?”

Cas laughed, which momentarily drew everyone's attention to him, including Dean's. Before Dean could say anything, Cas replied, “Matt, you fundamentally misunderstand the nature of our relationship if you think  _I'm his_  concubine...”

“Cas is one of the best soldiers here,” Dean snapped at Matt. “So you  _will_  follow him and you will take his orders. And if you can't do that, then good luck on your own out there.”

Matt folded his arms and said nothing else until he left, and Dean didn't really look at Cas until after the others had left either.

If everyone just assumed that Dean was “the man” of the relationship, as if it could be that simple, then Cas was generally fine with that. It offended him, however, when people thought that that translated into people thinking that Cas was subservient to Dean, which he categorically was not and never could be.

Publicly, Dean scored all the manliness points available; with his proven and consistent success as a soldier, decisive and intelligent leadership, and general indisputable badassery. In all respects but one he was almost a caricature of masculinity, the very model of the man that the late John Winchester had tried to raise Dean to be. That one great exception was, of course, his affectionate and loyal love for Cas, who was, for all intents and purposes, another man. No one other than Cas saw the other things that made Dean who he truly was; how caring and tender he was, how docile, gentle and emotional he could be sometimes. It was at odds with Dean's image, it was something that no one else could know or understand. It was effectively a secret that Cas kept for him.

As Dean finished putting the guns away, Cas got up from his chair and leaned back to rest his ass on the table, smirking as Dean approached, planting his hands each side of Cas and leaning in imposingly. “Why the hell did you say that stuff, about me being your...  _concubine?_ ”

“It was just a joke,” Cas grinned and got up on the table to sit, parting his legs so there would be room for Dean to stand between them.

“You have no sense of humour,” Dean stepped forward and closed the distance between them, holding Cas's waist firmly. “Cas, we've been over this, do  _not_  emasculate me in front of people.”

Cas rolled his eyes. Humans and their obsession with gender. Cas didn't even particularly identify himself as male, and was essentially indifferent to the fact that he happened to be one permanently now. He certainly didn't see it as being such a complicated and thorny issue as Dean saw it. “You know,” Cas mused, “it wouldn't be  _possible_  for me to emasculate you without you already being insecure about it.”

“Shut up. I am not insecure.”

Cas laughed. He couldn't help it.

“Shut up,” Dean repeated, holding Cas's hips and pressing his body flush against against Cas. The thigh holster on Dean's leg dug into the inside of Cas's thigh painfully, but he tried not to show discomfort. Dean narrowed his eyes a little and regarded Cas thoughtfully. “Let's go back to the cabin.”

“Or...” Cas hooked his legs around Dean's waist. “Let's stay here...”

Dean looked around nervously as if expecting to see someone right then, but of course, they were alone. “Someone could come in.”

“Lock the door.”

“They could still... see... through the windows...”

“So?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You have no shame.” Cas smiled but looked away, holding himself back from pointing out that Dean had more than enough  _shame_  for the both of them. Dean didn't seem to notice the action, leaning in closer to whisper in his ear. “Come on, Cas, I want you to... you know...”

_He can't even say it_. Cas was always a little upset by how awkward Dean could still be with this at times, how he was not entirely comfortable with this part of himself, no matter what Cas tried to do to help. “Okay,” Cas conceded, and he got down from the table and they quickly made their way out of the room, heading back to the privacy of their cabin.

Other people in the camp, at first, had found it remarkable that the two of them lived together. Cas had not been clear as to why; he and Dean had effectively lived together on the road for a couple of years, and Dean had always lived in close quarters with those he was close to, always staying in the same motel room with Sam when it had just been the two of them. Cas wasn't aware of why it was different for him and Dean, but people told him that it was.

It took Cas a long time to work out all the reasons why. Not only was Dean close to Cas, but he was somewhat ashamed at the same time. So they lived together because it kept their relationship behind closed doors. No one would see them going over to each other's cabins to visit each other, no one else would be able to notice who slept where and how often, no one would have anything to gossip about, because it was all kept private from them.

The cabin in which they held meetings was referred to as being Dean's cabin, though he did not live there. It wasn't truly habitable; terribly drafty and run down, it was used more as a place to hold meetings and keep stuff: guns, alcohol, etc. It was also painted red for improved visibility and served as a meeting point in the event of an emergency. Dean was wont to go there sometimes when he and Cas argued about something, but he hadn't been there recently. Still, he was the only person who had a key to it, and no one went there without his invitation.

As soon as they got back to the privacy of their own cabin they sat on the couch by the door to take their boots off as quickly as possible. Dean got up to go over to the bed, but Cas took hold of his hand to pull him back. Dean resisted him and looked at him, nonplussed. “What?”

“Sit,” Cas urged him.

“Hell no,” Dean raised his eyebrows, realising what Cas was insinuating. “I'm not gonna sit in your lap.”

“Why not?”

“I don't sit on guys' laps.”

“I know.” Cas smirked. “Only mine.”

Dean rolled his eyes but sank down to sit awkwardly on Cas's lap. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean's body and pulled him close. “See? It's not so bad.”

“Shut up,” Dean leaned in and kissed him then, his fingers tangling in Cas's dark hair and keeping him close. Dean pulled Cas's lower lip into his mouth, grazing over it with his teeth as he pulled away. Dean brushed Cas's hair behind his ear, as it was just getting long enough for that, and looked into his eyes with a playful smile. Dean could be relatively happy these days, at least for a time.

Cas softly kissed Dean again until Dean pulled away, getting up and holding Cas's wrist to lead him to get up. But when Cas was half out of his seat Dean swept him into his arms and carried him to the bed, as to prove some kind of a point, and then he threw Cas down roughly and climbed on top of him. Cas let Dean's body pin him down, Dean's arms bracketing his shoulders and confining Cas where he was, smirking into the aggressive kiss that Dean was smothering him with.

The second Dean moved to assault Cas's neck, Cas wrapped his arms tightly around Dean's body and rolled them over, scrabbling to get a commanding position on top of him and between his legs. Dean didn't truly try to resist Cas in this, and he allowed himself a smile when Cas took hold of his wrists and pinned them to the bed above his head.

Sex was the one place where Dean could be himself, and he was, by nature, sexually submissive. He could usually only be submissive with people who were weaker than him, but Cas  _wasn't_  weaker than him despite being the smaller of the two. It had taken a long time for Dean to become comfortable enough to allow it, but he trusted Cas completely by this point. As leader Dean was expected to be in control all the time, but when Dean was with Cas he often liked to surrender that control, surrendering himself and letting himself be taken care of. When Dean did embrace that side of himself he  _really_  embraced it; often wanting Cas to hold him down and really _give it to him_. And Cas knew that this was one of those times.

Cas pulled Dean to sit and stripped him of his button-down and his t-shirt, pulling his own shirt off over his head while he was about it. Dean's hands settled on his waist he slid one up Cas's chest, gazing up at him, a little smile on his face, like someone who had got exactly what he wanted.

Cas pushed Dean back to lie down again, lying on top of him and pressing his body to Dean's, skin-on-skin. Dean's arms wrapped around him as Cas kissed him, deeply but not too quickly, not too aggressively. Dean moaned into the kiss and raised one leg up by Cas's waist, signalling clearly that he wanted to move this along.

After pressing a few final kisses to Dean lips, Cas kissed him on the cheek, moving down to his neck, feeling one of Dean's hands come up to his hair and holding him close for a moment as Dean reciprocated those kisses in kind, murmuring something against the skin of Cas's neck.

Cas kissed his way down Dean's chest over firm muscle, teasing at one of Dean's nipples with his tongue. While Cas was lean and athletic, Dean was broad and powerful, and Cas trailed his hand down over the slightly softer skin of his stomach where Dean was naturally inclined to carry some weight, although their meagre existence and constant fighting kept him leaner than he probably should be. Cas descended lower, nuzzling his face against Dean's skin and pressing little kisses to his stomach, down past his belly-button, the soft hair that made a tempting trail down, further down, disappearing below the waistband of Dean's pants, destination hidden from Cas's view, though not for long.

Dean took it upon himself to unfasten his belt but Cas pulled his hands away, shooting him a look to remind him who was in charge here. Cas took a second to cup the bulge in Dean's pants before unbuttoning them and starting to pull them down, practically tearing off the thigh holster to get it out of the way of his progress. Dean hooked his thumbs around the waistband of his underwear and pushed them down a little way, meeting Cas's eyes before going any further. Cas nodded and just watched as Dean raised his hips and pushed the underwear down his legs.

His cock was already hard and leaking from the tip when Cas wrapped his fingers around it and brought it to his mouth. Dean's breath hitched and he tensed under Cas as Cas touched his lips to the head, kissing it softly at first, dragging his lips over it. Cas looked up at Dean and kept eye-contact with him as he flicked his tongue out to lick at the most sensitive part of underside of the head. Dean groaned and Cas covered that spot with a kiss, parting his lips over the head of Dean's cock and taking the tip into his mouth, sucking slowly and making his way further down Dean's length until he was taking as much as he could.

As he did so Dean opened his legs wider and raised his hips, making himself as open and exposed as possible. Cas allowed himself a moment of just enjoying knowing how badly Dean wanted this, not giving him anything more yet.

One of Dean's moans became a little impatient noise, and Cas watched as Dean reached over to the nightstand and grabbed hold of some lube and the box of condoms, dropping them down on the bed next to Cas – and even Cas could pick up on a hint like that.

“Cas, I want–”

Cas pulled off and replied with a grin, “I know what you want.” He met Dean's eyes before Dean smiled too and relaxed back onto the bed.

Cas grabbed hold of the bottle of lube and squeezed some onto his fingers. With his other hand he held Dean's thigh firmly, getting Dean to put one leg over Cas's shoulder where he knelt between Dean's legs. Dean did it, though he muttered “Come on...” under his breath as he did.

Cas teased at Dean's entrance, spreading plenty of lube around it and pressing a fingertip inside, opening him up. Dean's hands tangled in his hair, and Cas looked up at him as he returned his mouth to Dean's cock, taking it back into his mouth as his fingers worked to prepare Dean, slipping one inside, and then two.

Dean was panting by then, his body strung taut under Cas, rising and falling, tensing and relaxing. Cas curled his fingers upwards, and when he found Dean's prostate Dean cried out and his fingers tightened in Cas's hair, pulling it hard enough to hurt. Cas moaned appreciatively around Dean's cock; he loved feeling and hearing the effects of what he could do, the way he could make Dean feel.

Cas pulled off and looked up at Dean, replacing his mouth with his hand temporarily. With his other hand he brought a third fingertip to Dean's entrance. “You want more?” Cas asked, knowing full well that he did. Dean nodded and threw his head back, so Cas pushed into him with three fingers. Dean looked back down at him and Cas kept eye-contact as he moved his fingers in and out of Dean, letting Dean's cock rub against his cheek before he turned his head to the side to run his mouth up the side of the shaft. The roughness of Cas's stubble against such sensitive skin made Dean flinch and bite his lip, but Cas knew he was enjoying it too. Cas soothed it with his tongue and took it back into his mouth, knowing Dean was getting close now.

Dean was rhythmically grinding himself down on Cas's fingers, still pulling at his hair, repeating his name between frantic breaths. “Cas,” Dean panted, “Fuck, Cas, I'm gonna–” Cas moaned around Dean's cock and kept going, kept up the steady motions of his fingers inside Dean, and hollowed out his cheeks as he sucked hard on Dean's cock. With one last, loud moan Dean came, pressing his hips down on Cas's fingers and shooting into his mouth. Cas drew back and swallowed, keeping up his movements sucking on Dean's cock as more instantly rushed into his mouth, filling it with the slightly bitter, salty taste. Cas looked up at Dean and met his eyes as he swallowed it all, making Dean hum in appreciation and break into a smile, letting his head fall back, his body going limp.

Cas withdrew his hand, wiped it off and moved to sit on the bed. He still had his jeans on but presently unfastened them and pushed them off, underwear going with them. He moved to palm himself instinctively as he paused to look at Dean, lying on his back, utterly blissed-out and pliant. Cas didn't get to see him quite like this all that often, at least, not as often as he would like. But when Dean did give himself over to Cas's ministrations, when he looked at Cas the way he was looking at him now – it was always worth the wait.

Taking hold of Dean's hip, Cas turned him over onto his stomach, and without hesitation Dean raised himself up onto his knees, legs apart. He was so  _ready_  that the sight alone sent a jolt of lust through Cas straight to his groin, and it would be so easy to get behind Dean right now and give it to him – but Cas was determined that he had better self-control than that. “Dean...” Cas put his hand on Dean's shoulder and then, in one long motion ran it down his back, over his ass and down one thigh, his fingers trailing lightly over the sensitive skin behind his knee.

Dean shivered, took a deep breath and, his voice almost inaudible, murmured, “Cas, please...”

“Dean, lie down,” Cas encouraged, and Dean reluctantly did so, lying on his stomach. Cas got on top of him, straddling his hips, his cock against the cleft of Dean's ass. It took everything Cas had to continue to be patient – he ached all over with the need for release. Cas took a deep breath and, slowly, he massaged Dean's back, working his way up, kneading at the firm muscle with fingers. Cas leaned further and further forward until he was pressed against Dean, covering him, his lips on the back of Dean's neck. Dean let out a small sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper, turning his head to one side. Cas kissed his way up to Dean's ear, playing with it between his teeth, running over it with his tongue. A note of pleading in Dean's voice, he whispered, “ _Cas_ –”

“Shh.” Cas insisted, sharply, and Dean stayed quiet, burying his face in the pillow. Dean was rocking his hips slightly, rubbing himself against the sheets. Cas always got a thrill of knowing that Dean needed him, especially if it was after he already made Dean come once, and now he was getting hard again, still needing Cas, needing Cas inside him.

Cas breathed deeply through his nose as he raised himself up on one arm. He put on a condom, one of the last ones they had left, got some more lube and slicked his erection with it, repositioning himself between Dean's legs but keeping him lying on his stomach. Dean took a gasp of anticipation and shifted on the bed, trying to raise himself up, though he didn't need to.

“Keep still,” Cas commanded, enjoying how Dean took a sharp intake of breath in response to the order and the rough sound of Cas's voice. Cas made sure that Dean was fully prepared and lined himself up, pressing the head of his cock against Dean's entrance, slowly pushing past the initial resistance, waiting until he felt Dean relax even more, and then sinking into him slowly. Cas leaned forward again, supporting himself on his hands each side of Dean, giving him slow, deep thrusts, taking time to savour the feeling of Dean's body hot and tight around him.

Cas had all the control in this position and he dictated the pace, going slowly at first, experimenting until he knew he had hit Dean's prostate – and he definitely knew it from the loud, broken moan that escaped the man under him, the way his body tightened deliciously around Cas. Then Cas sped up, getting into a rhythm where he was hitting it regularly. Dean's hands were clenched around the pillow so hard that his knuckles were white, and the pillow muffled most of the sounds he was making as he buried his face in it.

Cas slowed and lowered himself down onto his forearms so that his body covered Dean's. He nuzzled at the back of Dean's neck, kissing the sensitive spot behind his ear. He moaned into Dean's ear and repeated his name while he was slowly rocking his hips, keeping himself buried deep inside Dean and barely pulling back. This way he was rubbing slowly and precisely over Dean's prostate sent so much pleasure through Dean that it was almost too much. Dean had his face buried in the pillow, the moans he was making still obscenely loud even through it. Cas loved to hear him but stopped for a moment and leaned down to kiss Dean on the cheek. Dean turned as much as he could to look at him. Their eyes met, and Dean silently asked for more; too far gone and consumed by sensation for shame to come into play now. Cas pulled him in for a kiss, but even when Cas broke away, he still didn't move.

“Dammit, Cas...” Dean mumbled into the pillow. “Please.  _Please_...” Cas raised himself up on his hands but waited until Dean looked at him again – and then kept his eyes locked with Dean's as he drew back and thrust into him hard and deep. Dean's eyes fell closed as Cas gave that to him again, and again, and again, going faster once more.

“Cas, Cas,” Dean panted, breathless and almost insensible as Cas got back into his rhythm, giving it to him as fast and deep as he could. “Fuck– yes– like that... like that Cas...” Cas realised that Dean was getting close just as he realised that it wasn't going to take much to get him there either; his thrusts fast and instinctive and moans loud and wanton. Cas had never really learned how to keep himself quiet when he was experiencing pleasure like this, preferring to surrender himself to it and embrace it fully. He was repeating Dean's name, and he thought he was mumbling other words and phrases but at this point all he was sure of was that it probably wasn't even making sense – some of it might even be Enochian.

Slowing in his movements just a little, Cas reached down; it was a little awkward but he could just get his hand under Dean to wrap his fingers around Dean's cock, finding wetness there from where Dean had been rubbing himself against the bed. At the touch of Cas's hand the sound Dean let out was almost a groan, but it was one of relief and need.

It was hard for Cas to keep up a steady pace; he could feel his balls tightening as his climax approached, but he wanted to make Dean come like this, wanted that more than anything. Every one of Cas's thrusts into him pushed Dean's cock into Cas's hand, and that was enough; within a couple of minutes Cas knew Dean was close, knew it from the way that Dean was saying his name over and over, knew it from how hot Dean was getting, how his body was strung taught with tension. And then, just as Cas helplessly gave in to his own pleasure, his thrusts becoming erratic and desperate, Dean came with a shout cut off by the pillow, his entire body trembling as Cas pushed into him a few final times, his orgasm hitting him hard. A guttural moan escaped Cas as the ecstasy tore through his body, and it was all he could do not to collapse. He let his head fall forward to rest against Dean's, taking a deep breath and staying there, still, just for a moment until he came down from this high.

He was shaking when he finally climbed off Dean, pulling off the condom and getting rid of it, letting himself collapse onto his back on the bed and lie there breathing hard and staring up at the ceiling through the stars in his vision.

Dean turned his head to face Cas, his eyes opening lazily, looking so completely and utterly  _satisfied_  that Cas couldn't help feel proud of himself, and when Cas smiled he may have accidentally done so with a certain smugness.

Dean raised his eyebrows, rolled onto his side and glanced down at the mess on the sheets, clearly not wanting to lie on it. Cas grinned and pulled Dean over to his side of the bed, where they wrapped their arms around each other, sharing a few breathless, fleeting kisses.

Dean stopped kissing him, closing his eyes and pressing their foreheads together, taking several deep breaths. Cas could feel him trembling, his arms clinging tight around Cas's body.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked, uncertainly.

“Yeah,” Dean replied breathlessly, opening his eyes breaking into a wide smile. “Just, fuck, Cas, that was so hot, I...”

Cas smiled and kissed kissed him on the cheek, holding him more tightly for a long moment until they both settled down. Cas felt and heard Dean laugh slightly as he clapped his hand on Cas's shoulder, saying playfully, “I owe you.”

Cas chuckled and brushed his fingers over Dean's hair, pulling back to gaze at him through heavily-lidded eyes. “No,” he said softly, giving Dean a kiss. “You don't owe me.” Cas settled down, his face nuzzled against Dean's neck. Dean pushed Cas's hair back off his forehead and kissed him there, and they both let sleep take them for a little while. 


	4. Bad Moon Rising

**4: Bad Moon Rising**

The next time Cas left the camp, it was for a regular supply mission to an aid distribution centre. Cas didn't usually accompany Dean on these trips, but after the time it had taken him to recover from his injury he had become rusty with, well,  _everything_  – so wanted more practice of doing something useful before they set out to track down the demon possessing Tammy for real.

Most of Camp Chitaqua's supplies were looted from abandoned stores, but the US government did give out aid, too. A few months previously, Dean had reluctantly got himself registered with them as a Militia Leader – and as long as he provided the government with a full list of names, he could take enough medical supplies for the whole camp. The army did roll around every once in a while to check that these people really existed, and thus Chuck's records were important.

After they pulled in to the centre, Dean and Cas joined a fenced in-queue. Gaps of a couple of feet were left between them and the people ahead and behind them, and soldiers watched them like hawks from the side, ready to instantly take out anyone who displayed signs of Croatoan. According to Dean, this set up had ended just as badly as one might imagine on more than one occasion – with a bunch of humans in a confined space with guns while everyone was intensely paranoid and jumpy. This was the worst thing about Croatoan – how it could be in anyone, anywhere, and without drawing blood and testing it was virtually impossible to tell.

They reached the front of the line and approached a soldier standing behind a portable table who demanded their IDs, in addition to Camp Chitaqua's member list. Dean produced his, and so did Cas. Cas's driving licence was a fake, of course, but it had his  _real_  name on it. He had taken care of this sort of thing and cleared Dean's criminal record while he was still an angel. The soldier looked up Camp Chitaqua on the computer, then checked their IDs. "Dean Winchester... Castiel Winchester..." he said absently, eyes fixed on the screen and only flicking at them to check that they matched their pictures. "You two brothers or something?"

Dean didn't answer. Cas was tempted to lie for him and say  _Yes_ , but he was not a good liar and Dean had advised him to  _let him do the talking_  with the army. The silence drew the soldier's attention – his eyes flicked between the two of them and then widened as he raised his eyebrows. This was probably the most interesting thing that had happened to him that day. "Oh..." he said slowly. "Right."

Cas sensed Dean tense up beside him, steeling himself for some disparaging remark, some attack by the soldier. It never came. The soldier handed Dean an envelope. "New papers and crap. You know,  _terms and conditions_ , officially you should read it. Also got some recruitment posters." Dean nodded indifferently and took the envelope.

The soldier then took a red card from a pile, wrote down some numbers on it, stamped it, and then handed it to Dean. "Over there to your left, join the line. Show 'em this."

"Thanks," Dean replied, in his low, gruff voice, the one he used when he was trying to pretend to be especially macho. Cas tried not to smile to himself as he followed after Dean to stand in the new line.

After that, it was a long and tedious process to load up their truck with the boxes full of asprin, antibiotics, and things of that nature. Most of it was actually emblazoned with the Canadian flag as aid from them – and Cas remembered enough about politics to know that this surely hurt the pride of the US government and the troops distributing it, but they'd be grateful nonetheless. Cas read the inventory and noticed that they also supplied a number of pregnancy tests and supplements for expectant mothers – as well as, mercifully, a number of condoms. He pointed this out to Dean, and asked, "Surely there are few people who would want to bring a child into a world such as this?"

Dean just shrugged. "Yeah, I know. Come on."

Cas nodded while Dean shut and locked the truck. "Well," Cas said absently, "at least we don't have to worry about that." He smiled to Dean but Dean just looked around nervously at the two soldiers standing nearby – and yes, they had heard. Dean looked profoundly uncomfortable as he disappeared round the side of the truck, heading for the driver's side. Cas went up to the other side and climbed in next to him, picking up his machine gun and checking that it was ready. It was only then that Cas noticed Dean's reaction after Cas's contraceptive comment. Cas went to say something, but Dean began to talk about the route they were taking back, and the moment seemed to pass in which Cas could apologise, as Dean buried the matter so thoroughly that it got to the point where it would be awkward to bring it up again.

Besides, they had to concentrate. Now came one of the most dangerous things they had to do – driving across country with supplies. The army patrolled the roads for a few miles around, and even though the entirety of the US was under Martial Law (and had been since January 2013, as Palin's first act as President) that didn't mean there were soldiers lining every road. Inevitably, there would be parts of the journey where they would be vulnerable to croats and demons - and regular thieves. "Friggin'  _people_ , man..." Dean would often say, with a shake of his head.

A bridge had collapsed and they were thus forced to drive through Kansas City. The place was dimly familiar to Cas but far more run down than last time he saw it. Apart from the occasional burnt-out car the place didn't actually look too bad, apart from its being deserted. The abandoned cinema displayed a sign for a movie called "Route 666" which Dean had wanted to see but had never got round to.

Of course, they had gone through it on the way to the army base too, but as they hadn't had any cargo then, it had not been anything like as dangerous as it was this time.

"Croats are likely to live here," Cas observed, just to break the nervous silence of the car.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "But I don't think they do right now."

"How do you know?"

"I know."

Cas narrowed his eyes and looked around. He possessed a dim, difficult to define sense of the presence of croats and demons and other things as a relic of his angel powers. He couldn't sense any, but he had been wrong before. He was willing to bet, though, that in terms of human instincts, Dean's were more honed than his own.

They drove in silence through most of the rest of the city, Cas looking attentively out of the window and checking the side mirror, holding his gun, ready. They were nearly out of the other side of the town, when Cas broke the silence. "Dean, stop."

"Why?"

"Shoes."

"What?"

" _Shoes_ ," Cas repeated, pointedly. "Various people in the camp could use new shoes. We just drove past a shoe store. With shoes in it."

Dean sighed at yet another thing he had to worry about in this post-apocalyptic hell-hole, but reluctantly agreed to turn around and go back to the store. "Be quick about this," he grumbled, hauling himself up to sit on the roof of the truck while Cas went into the store. Technically, this was looting, and thus illegal, but this entire city had been abandoned so long that at this point Cas preferred to think of it as  _foraging_.

"Hello boys," a woman's voice suddenly interrupted them, and instantly Cas and Dean had their guns trained on her. She laughed, and settled into a wide grin, calmly tucking some of her straight blonde hair behind one ear. She blinked, and revealed pitch black eyes.

"What the hell do you want?" Dean shouted.

"I've got a message," the demon told them, her voice measured, calm, and notable for her British accent.

"Save it." Dean barked.

She smiled. "I know someone who knows where the colt is. I'm on your team."

"Demons are never on our team," Dean called back. "Never. We've been dicked over before."

"By Crowley," she confirmed. "Yes, I know. Barely escaped with your lives, I understand..."

"And you won't escape with yours if you don't shut the hell up," Dean added.

She laughed, a light and lilting laugh which clashed with their stark surroundings. "Okay Dean. All I ask is that you think about it. Think about whether you want the colt or not."

"I don't believe you know a damn thing about it." Dean growled.

"Fine," she shrugged. "If that's what you want to believe. But I am telling the truth. I'll see you again." With that, she disappeared behind a building. Dean jumped down and ran after her and Cas followed, but when they rounded the corner she was already gone; lost to the labyrinth of the city, and it was unlikely that they would ever find her or catch her.

They quickly made their way back to the truck. "She was lying," Dean said, more to himself than to Cas.

"Crowley was lying," Cas agreed, remembering the incidents of late 2013 in which Crowley supposedly gave them the location of the colt, only for Dean, Cas and others to end up getting ambushed by demons on Lucifer's team, led by Meg, and Cas had ended up breaking his foot.

"At least that son of a bitch is dead now," Dean grumbled. "We can't trust demons, Cas, not ever. If she's serious we'll see her again someday. Maybe we can use her."

For most of the way back they talked about potential ways they could use this demon – so at least this way if they did see her again, they would be prepared, they would face her with a plan.

* * *

A couple of days after the supply run, it was finally time to act on what Chuck had seen in his vision, and try to track down the demon possessing Tammy. A couple of days before the full moon it was still quiet, but they checked out the abandoned hospital building that Chuck had seen anyway, only to find nothing there. Even after the full moon passed, there were still very few demons around, apart from one flashpoint: lightning storms erupting out of nowhere around that same hospital. Classic demon sign.

Jane insisted on coming and would  _not_  be talked out of it, even though neither Dean or Cas had told her yet about what they expected to find.

They drove out to the abandoned hospital in two vehicles, parking them some distance away, just off the side of a country road. Dean dictated that he was to lead Jane and one of their other soldiers, Alex, and would be taking them round to the other side of the building. "And Cas," Dean patted him on the shoulder, "You take Risa and Matt. You go in ten minutes."

Cas nodded and glanced at his two fellow soldiers. Matt scowled at him wearily, while Risa's expression was unreadable. If she had some objection to following Cas once more, she didn't show it. Although not a soldier by training she behaved as a professional. And Dean had very firmly made it so – and things Dean made so were not generally up for debate. Cas went over their plan of attack, how they would move, and then they waited calmly for the ten minutes to pass.

Cas could sense the demons, on some level that was now beyond his own understanding, but as far as he could tell, there weren't many of them. Croats, on the other hand... he had a feeling there were a hell of a lot of those. He shared this information, of course, for what it was worth. They went in through a rusty gate in the outer fence, Cas leading, running quietly across the empty grounds of the hospital car park toward the building. So far, nothing. He reached the back door, and didn't even need to pick a lock to open it. "This is too easy," he murmured, narrowing his eyes.

"What are you saying?" Risa asked. "That this is a trap?"

Cas nodded curtly. "They know we're coming."

Matt asked, "Do we still go?"

"Yes," Cas said immediately. "Dean will still go. We go together. Just be ready."

Cas got Matt to kick the door quickly open, and they rushed into the corridor within. As Cas expected, there were demons and croats waiting for him, ready to attack, and it was all that the three of them could do to defend themselves and get to a reasonably safe position under the staircase. After a frantic few minutes filled with gunfire and hyper-vigilance, they very suddenly found themselves alone, apart from the dead and dying. Cas was right - most of them were croats – more numerous and expendable than demons, but also easier to kill. They looked through the bodies for Tammy – confident that they could recognise her from the photographs Jane had shown them – but didn't find her.

After that it was a marathon of an attack, methodically making their way through the back of the hospital while the other team took the front of the building, distantly locateable by the sounds of their gunfire.

Matt had their backs, firing salt rounds and bullets at anything that came at them – but there were far more croats coming at them than any of them had anticipated. Through the cacophony of gun-fire and the smoke-tinged air, it was hard to tell at first how many there were, but they continued to search for Tammy.  

"You find her?" Risa called.

"She's not here," Cas confirmed. "She's either on the floor above us or already slipped past us."

Risa looked to the staircase and glanced to Cas's foot fleetingly. "Can you get up the stairs?"

"Of course," Cas frowned, urging Risa to go, and he would follow.

They got through the entire building, laboriously and violently – and still didn't find the demon they were looking for, even when they got up onto the roof. "Okay," Cas took a moment to lean back against the wall and pant. His foot hurt like hell and he was  _tired_. "We have to get out of here. Tactical retreat."

"Aren't we kinda trapped up here?" Risa asked.

"Well," Cas shrugged. "Yeah. We have to shoot our way back down and out. Should be easier than getting up."

"Should be," she repeated wryly. "Terrific. Okay, let's go."

They made it back down to the ground floor and made a run for the door – fortunately there only seemed to be a few croats left and now it seemed that the demons had fled the place.

Cas ran, as best as he could, until he felt something grab the back of his coat. Barely missing a beat, Cas shrugged the coat off over his shoulders which inevitably took his machine gun with it, throwing the strap for that up over his head so it wouldn't get tangled around his neck. The croat was temporarily thrown by this, for just long enough for Castiel to turn around and draw his handgun and shoot him right between the eyes. Seemingly out of nowhere a female croat had leapt to the ground and pulled Cas's machine gun out of the tangled material, but Cas shot her too before she could get a proper hold of it, let alone fire.

Cas just had time to pull the gun from the croat's lifeless hands, turn around and make a run for it. He caught up to Matt and Risa – Risa had been hit but was doing her best to run, holding onto Matt for balance while Matt fired at anything that came at them.

They made it back to the fence and got out to the truck, but there was no sign of Dean and Alex, only Jane. When asked what happened she explained that they had got separated.

"You'll have to go into quarantine," Cas explained, as he fought to get his breath back.

She just nodded in resignation. "We didn't find her - Tammy. She's not here. We were just trying to get out."

"Same," Cas confirmed. "She's not here. I can't understand it."

Jane frowned. "We never  _knew_  she would be here..."

"Of course," Cas lied, somewhat badly. He decided to just shut up after that. They waited for a few minutes, panting, carefully keeping watch on the area around them, for Dean and Alex, for anyone or anything else that might attack them. Cas became aware of feeling the cold touch on the air through his two layers of clothing, now that his coat was gone.

"Surely they should be back by now?" Jane glanced at Cas, expecting him to make a decision.

"Get in the truck," Cas ordered the three of them. He cut off Matt's attempt at a protest. "Get in the truck, start the engine. If I'm not back in five minutes, go without me. Drive and don't stop for anything."

Risa complied immediately, staking her claim to the driving seat.

"Cas..." Jane put her hand on his shoulder. Cas met her eyes and her gaze softened to say that she understood, while Matt muttered his protests in the background. Jane knew what it was to put her life at risk to look for someone who really mattered. "Good luck."

Cas nodded, went back through the gate and set off at a run. Pain exploded in his foot and shot up his leg on every step, but Cas ran anyway, ran around the side of the building, ran towards the croats. He fired at them and they dropped, in his way so he had to jump over them to get to front door, the way that Dean had gone. The pain in his injured foot was intolerable and Cas cried out and dropped to his knees temporarily, forcing himself to stand again, forcing himself to search the lower floor of the building.

Dean wasn't there. Cas returned to the building's lobby and set to hauling himself up the stairs – and this time, after repeated strain, it legitimately was a struggle for him to manage it. His foot hurt, breathing seemed to hurt, and Cas then realised just how unfit he had let himself get in the past few weeks as he made it onto the top floor, panting, his legs shaking from the effort of it all. If Dean wasn't in the building then his best bet was to get onto the roof so he could see the land around it, so he could find Dean.

Finding Dean was all that mattered, all that drove him on as he made it out onto the roof and threw himself against one side of the building, leaning over the parapet and frantically scanning the long grass and bushes below. Bodies kept catching his eye – but Cas was looking for movement – refusing to even consider that Dean may not be moving – but finally it was a gunshot that got his attention, from he other side of the building.

Cas sprinted for the door back into the building the thought barely forming in his mind,  _Back down the stairs. Fuck. This is going to hurt_.

He fought his way back out the door and ran across the yard to where Dean was, lying flat on the ground next to Alex. Cas skidded to a halt and glanced at Alex.

"He's dead." Dean told him simply. Cas looked again at the bullet wound in Alex's skull and Dean added, "I killed him." Cas searched his eyes, but saw no remorse there. "He was infected, Cas, I had no choice."

Doubt flickered through Cas's mind, just as it did when anyone had ever been by themselves, especially if they were next to a corpse – as these could be the actions of someone under the influence of Croatoan. But there was no time to debate this now, and besides, Cas tried to reassure himself that it hadn't been long enough, that the virus took a few hours to kick in. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders and hauled him to his feet - though Dean was injured - a bullet wound to his right leg just below the knee making it impossible to put weight on that leg. It was all the pair of them could do to limp back over to the fence, though mercifully all the croats and the few demons seemed to be dead or to have fled the place by this point, leaving them alone, apart from the carnage that surrounded them.

The other truck had already left, and Cas knew it had been far more than five minutes. Cas knew he still needed to get out of there as fast as he could, and got Dean into the back of the truck that remained. Cas was forced to leave Dean to take care of himself and get in the driving seat, starting the truck up, flooring the gas and getting them the hell out of there.

"Did you–" Dean's words were cut off by a pained noise as he lay down on the back seat. "Did you see Tammy anywhere?"

"No," Cas lamented. "You?"

"Nah."

"It was a trap."

"Son-of-a-bitch..." Dean lay down and Cas could dimly hear him pulling a first aid kit out from under the seat to take care of his leg. "Probably," he agreed eventually. "No idea what the hell else all those demons and croats just happened to be doing there while they just happened to let us stroll up to the building like that." Dean's voice was flat and disinterested, though bitterness crept into it towards the end, and became apparent again when he resumed talking. "Alex was a good soldier and a good man," he said through gritted teeth. "And I killed him. They didn't even have the decency to do it themselves, just infected him so I had to do it. Couldn't even take his body with us, the pair of us..."

Cas wasn't sure what to say to that, so remained quiet as they drove. He was acutely conscious of how still and quiet Dean had become as they finally caught up to the other truck.

"Dean?" Dean didn't answer. Cas twisted in his seat to look back and see him lying on the back seat with his face turned away, so Cas couldn't see whether he was awake or not. "Dean?"

"Yeah..." Dean's voice was fragile and quiet as he turned to look at Cas. "You lost your coat."

"Oh," Cas said absently. "Yeah." There was a pause before he asked, "Are you okay?" Dean laughed bitterly and didn't answer. "Do you need my help? Have you dressed the wound and stopped the bleeding? Should we stop?"

"No," Dean dismissed him in irritation. "Don't stop. Too dangerous. Just drive."

Cas fell silent and did just that, returning to the camp as fast as possible.

* * *

As soon as they pulled up back at the camp, Cas went round to the back of the car and opened the door to help Dean get out, but he noticed immediately from the amount of blood soaked into Dean's jeans and the upholstery of the back seat that Dean was either a lot more severely injured than he had let on, or he hadn't bandaged the wound properly.

"Dean–"

Dean sat up and waved his hand to tell Cas to be quiet. "I'm fine."

"No, Dean, you need to–"

"It's fine," Dean said groggily, breaking into a confused smile, "'tis but a scratch!"

"No," Cas insisted, frowning at Dean's odd choice of words. "Come on, I'll take you to the–"

"You're not taking me anywhere," Dean replied, jumping down from the truck and nearly falling as his legs buckled under him. He pulled a can of beer out from the car and cracked it open. "We're back  _home_ ," he sneered, sarcastically. "Home after yet another one of our successful missions where we found nothing and lost a good soldier – and this time we don't even have his body to burn. For us, that's pretty much a win, right?"

"Dean..." Cas tried to take hold of Dean's shoulders and get him to put the beer down as he threw his head back and drank down several gulps. "Dean, sit down and let me take care of this."

"Why?" Dean said, softly, his voice barely audible. "What is the point of all this crap?"

"Dean," Cas geld him by the shoulders, "you've lost a lot of blood. You're not thinking straight."

"I'm thinking fine." Dean insisted, his voice edged with raw anger. "I'm totally capable of understanding. We took a risk going after some demon who may or may not know something – and we didn't even get her, and lost a guy. We did all of it for NOTHING!" Dean threw the can at a tree, where it made a rather unimpressive metallic thud and fell to the ground.

"Dean, please, calm down," Cas could feel the eyes of the other members of the camp on them, hear them whispering to each other. For them to see their  _fearless leader_  like this was not exactly great for their confidence. "You need to go to the nurse–"

"Fuck that," Dean pulled out another beer and opened it, downing several gulps. "I'm fine."

Cas took a deep breath and a moment to compose himself, but Dean decided to turn to a couple of onlookers and shout, "What the hell are you looking at?"

"Dean," Cas put a hand on his shoulder, "Come inside."

"Don't tell me to come inside," Dean batted his arm away. "I'm supposed to be the leader here. I'm supposed..." he trailed off and took several more gulps of beer. Finally, decisively, he raised his beer to Cas as if making a toast. "Congrats. You're the leader now. I... I  _abdicate_ , or whatever. I'm done with this shit. You do it. Why does it always have to be me? Why do I have to be a hero?"

Dean limped past Cas to return to the cabin, and Cas watched him go, in quiet resignation. It didn't seem that Dean was in a state to be reasoned with.

Cas went over to retrieve the discarded can, and briefly speak to the other soldiers, telling them that they would talk over the mission the next day. Risa volunteered to go and break the news about Alex to his closet friends, which Cas was relieved about, and Matt took Jane to quarantine - seeing as she had been out of their sight and could be infected.

After that, Cas headed back to the cabin, hoping that Dean would have calmed down somewhat. As Cas approached the door, there was nothing but silence from within, which instantly set his nerves on edge. The only thing worse than Dean shouting and breaking things was Dean being quiet.

He found Dean slumped unconscious on the floor, propped up against the end of the bed. Whether this was being caused by blood-loss, shock, alcohol, or the horrible combination of all three, Cas didn't know, but he knew Dean needed help. The possibility of Dean having been infected with Croatoan also continued to nag at him – it was entirely possible, no matter how strongly Cas's mind was refusing to consider the possibility.

"Dean?" Cas crouched down in front of him and cupped the side of his face. "Dean can you hear me?" Dean opened his eyes blearily and looked up at Cas uncomprehendingly, his eyes falling closed again. Not wasting any more time, Cas pulled Dean into his arms and lifted him up – no mean feat because Dean was  _heavy_  and Cas wasn't fully an angel anymore.

Once Cas found his balance, standing up, his injured foot screaming in protest at the extra weight, Cas was able to carry Dean out through the door. The steps were tough, but once he was down and got going, this wasn't too difficult, and by this point he was used to the pain in his foot and fought through it. He attracted the attention of everyone he passed but ignored all of them, making his way across the camp to the medical cabin with Dean in his arms.

By the time he finally got there the ache in his arms meant that the best he could do was make it into a quarantine room, lean vaguely over the bed in there and drop Dean onto it, collapsing to his knees beside it and breathing hard.

"Quarantine?" Azaria asked, from behind him.

"I think he's okay," Cas panted. "But I thought... just in case. I'll stay in here with him."

He turned to Azaria and she bit her lower lip. She went and got medical supplies, taking them in to dress Dean's wound properly and Cas went out into the main room to get a gun.  _Just in case_. Cas felt sick. None of this seemed real, and the thought flickered in Cas's mind that he could really do with some pills right now. He tried so hard not to think about the reality of the situation; that Dean might actually be infected with Croatoan and Cas might actually have to shoot him – fortunately, he got distracted by Bobby.

"Dean's in quarantine too?"

"Yeah," Cas tried to keep his composure. "I really think he's fine, but, you know..."

Bobby nodded grimly. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Cas replied, distractedly.

"You really are, huh?" Bobby was studying him carefully. "There ain't a scratch on you."

Cas realised he was right, and shrugged. He replied sarcastically, "Maybe there's an angel watching over me."

"Don't get cute." Bobby smiled in spite of himself.

"This does happen to me a lot," Cas mused. "Maybe I'm just invincible."

"You broke your foot just a few months ago, idjit." Bobby pointed out, incredulous. "You get complacent, and the next thing, you'll get yourself killed. So let's not go nuts, Danny Dravot –  _lucky_  is what you are."

Cas narrowed his eyes in confusion. Whenever someone addressed Cas by a name other than his own, he realised that he was being compared to a fictional character. "I don't understand that reference," Cas replied. He virtually never did.

"Castiel?" Azaria interrupted their conversation; it was time to lock Dean in quarantine. Cas went over to the door. "Cas, you don't have to go in," she took hold of his upper arm. "You know we can take care of it from out here."

"I know." Cas pulled his arm out her grasp. "I should go, anyway. I was on my own for a while, it's the best way to know for sure that I don't have it either." And with that he stepped into the room, taking in all the medicines and supplies he would need.

Azaria looked at him sadly as she pulled the iron door closed until it was flush with the wall – no handle on the inside, no other way out of the room.

It was a hell of an unpleasant room to spend any time in; the opposite wall had a number of bullets embedded in it, and blood stained the wood a darker colour than it should be. There were no windows and the only source of light was a single bulb behind a tough iron mesh that really could not be pulled apart. He and Dean had built this room – and Cas tried not to think about the fact that if there was anyone who could possibly find a way out while infected, it would be Dean.

Cas went over to the bed and Dean's eyes blinked open and he looked around, the situation dawning on him. "This is... quarantine..."

"Yes." Cas pulled up a chair to take his seat beside the bed.

Dean just looked at him. " _Awesome._  How long?"

Cas glanced at the clock. "I'll draw some blood in a couple of hours, Azaria will test it. If it's not showing up by then, we're good."

" _We_?"

"Just to be thorough." Cas cut him off. "I'm fine."

Dean sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry, Cas."

"It's okay Dean." Cas got down from the chair to kneel by the bed and lean over it, cupping the side of Dean's face in his hand and meeting his eyes for a long time.

Dean smiled weakly. "Cas... saving me again." Cas smiled and leaned in and kissed him, not caring a damn that there were two cameras in this room which fed into monitors outside that pretty much anyone could see. And for once, apparently, Dean didn't care about that either, and kept his eyes fixed on Cas as if he were the only other person in the world. "Why'd you do it, Cas? You feel like you have to?"

"I did have to," Cas told him, planting another kiss on his lips. "The first time, in Hell, I was under orders. But every time since, it's been by choice. For love."

It was remarkable, really, considering the intensity of their relationship, how infrequently the word  _love_  actually passed between them. They both knew it, both took it for granted. "Love..." Dean repeated in a whisper, pulling him in for another kiss.

Neither of them were really set up for this kind of love. Cas never had been, as an angel, and now as a poor excuse for a human he was hardly any more capable of it than before. Cas was configured to worship, to cherish and to follow, and that was how he loved Dean.

Dean, on the other hand, had loved several people in his life and lost every single one of them. Dean was set up to protect, to fight with every fibre of his being to keep the people close to him safe. That had defined who Dean was from childhood, and continued to do so. Dean would always keep Cas close to him, would protect him until their last breaths, and Cas would be at Dean's side to support him no matter where they went.

Perhaps it was screwed up, perhaps it was underpinned by motivations that were less than pure, but it was love nonetheless. They were inexorably wrapped up in each other and always would be. They would live together, and, they both knew, they would die together. It wasn't healthy, it wasn't what was best for either of them. And perhaps worst of all, their relationship could have been so much better than this. They both knew it. They both imagined that they were in a better version of this same relationship, that they were better versions of each other, that they were better versions of themselves. But that was what the apocalypse did to people. They were stronger together than they were apart, and they had no choice but to take each other as they were and try and make the best of things, clinging onto memories, ideas and shadows of what they used to be, because that was all that was left.

Dean dozed a little while, and they talked a bit – about past hunts they had been on, even about Dean's good memories of Sam. When the time came Cas drew Dean's blood with a syringe, slipped it into a hatch to be taken away for analysis, following it with some of his own.

Cas tried not to think about what he would do if Dean was infected with Croatoan, the prospect of having to shoot Dean and kill him a grim , repetitive scenario which played over and over in his mind as Dean dozed off due to the painkillers. What the hell Cas would do afterwards, he had no idea. Strangely, for someone who had lived millions of years, Cas really never thought of life after Dean's death. Whenever he tried to imagine it he simply drew a blank, it was as if time would just stop. The humans had a saying:  _We'll cross that bridge when we get to it,_  so Cas tried not to think about it - tried simply to steel himself for what he might have to do and think no more of it, to keep his emotions out of it, as if that were possible now.

A sound got Cas's attention; the hatch sliding across to bring Cas the result. He only glanced at Dean before going over to get it, and took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he held the slip of folded paper between his fingers. Anxiety knotted in his stomach as he unfolded to see two words revealed there:  _Dean: Clear_.

Cas breathed a sigh of relief, and heard Dean do the same behind him, as he stirred from his shallow sleep. Dean then limped over to read what Cas's result was, though there was no particular anxiety about that, as it was clear too.

Azaria opened the door from the outside, and they stepped out to learn that Jane was clear, too, though she had already gone back to her cabin, seeing as the whole experience had disturbed her and she needed some time alone.

"I knew I couldn't die," Dean cracked a smile and tried to lighten the mood. Putting his arm around Cas's shoulder and resting some weight on him. "I've gotta kill Lucifer. Can't do that if I'm dead."

Cas narrowed his eyes and frowned. "Dean... surely you don't think yourself invincible?"

"No, man," Dean laughed. "I was kidding..." he trailed off at that moment as he noticed Chuck waiting at one side of the room, fiddling with the end of one sleeve.

"Chuck!" Dean called to him and Chuck looked over warily. "What the hell happened?"

"I..." Chuck looked at them blankly. "I don't know. I just see what's going to happen–"

"And you didn't see this?" Dean pressed him, not succeeding in keeping the anger out of his voice.

"No," he replied. "Tammy was there, in the vision... I- I don't understand it. I've never seen anything that didn't happen later, one way or another. You know that."

In the silence that followed Cas drew his brows together an thought. "Chuck, I wonder whether someone else could be sending you false visions. A powerful psychic, perhaps."

"So demons can get us to go where they want when they want?" Dean interjected. " _Awesome_."

Chuck shook his head and looked lost. "I thought I had my visions because I was a prophet of the lord?"

Cas nodded. "You are. But perhaps not all your visions are from the lord, if someone is trying to trick us. I don't know."

Chuck suddenly shook his head. "No," he insisted. "I... I don't think so. The vision was just the same as the others – and I mean exactly the same. I... Things can change, you know. You changed things the night Lucifer was released, when you showed up at my house. I never had a vision of that happening, but it did. The demons just changed their plans," Chuck assured them, seeming to become more certain of the matter himself with every word he spoke. "We'll still find her. It's still going to happen. Just not today."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry it took me longer to update this than I try to aim for. Will be posting the next one within a couple of days, most likely.


	5. Dig for Victory

"You look weird without your creeper coat."

Cas shrugged. He was standing next to Dean, and they now wore matching green military-style jackets. Cas was in the habit of wearing clothes a size or two too big for him, swamping him and making him look smaller than he really was. But his new jacket was actually the right size for him, and made Cas look larger, stronger, more authoritative.

The two of them were watching as their soldiers, little more than a rag-tag militia, performed drills with their guns. With Cas back in action it felt as if they were finally on an even footing again and could stand together as equals, as a team, once again. Cas could count on Dean and Dean could count on Cas: the way it used to be.

Dean's injury had him down for all of about 8 hours in the end; for the past few days he had been stoically limping around the camp and keeping up with all his duties as leader. "Can't show weakness, Cas," Dean insisted every time Cas tried to tell him to rest.

"Do you remember," Dean mused, "when you first started going human, the only clothes you had were basically just my clothes."

"Yeah," Cas confirmed. Dean still liked to see Cas in his clothes, though generally only when they were alone together. "But by this point I need my own clothes." Cas said it a little defensively, though he wasn't even sure why.

"Yeah, I get that," Dean replied, "I'm just saying, that coat was like a part of you. I got used to seeing you in it. And getting you out of it."

"Things change." Cas responded absently.

Dean sighed wearily. "Your sense of humour doesn't."

Dean frequently described Cas as having  _no sense of humour_ , but that was not strictly true. Cas had gradually developed a dry sarcasm, though he only ever deployed it when he wanted to, and if he wasn't in the mood, it didn't appear. And these days, Cas was in no mood for jokes. He was in no mood for much of anything.

The drills over, Dean put his arm around Cas's shoulders and leaned on him heavily as they returned to their cabin.

It wasn't long, of course, before Dean was back to his usual self and didn't need Cas's help anymore. The winter suddenly abated – the climate was messed up and random these days – and although it remained cold the temperatures were milder than average. There was no snow, or rain, which was not actually a good thing but the sun shone brightly every day, casting its soft winter light over everything which made people  _feel_  better. The sullen brown, green and grey environment of the camp became infused with splashes of colour as, confused, flowers began to grow early in their patches of freedom around the buildings.

There were times, in the camp, when it didn't feel like they were post-apocalypse at all. The few children that were around would play outside in the sunshine while the adults in the camp saw to their vegetables and animals; for Camp Chitaqua had its own miniature farm. They kept numerous chickens, a few goats, and a small number of pigs. They would tend to it, and it would seem as if all was well.

Cas knew, Castiel  _remembered_ , that tens of thousands of years ago all humans had lived like this; in small collectives operating with a kind of primitive communism. This was, arguably, the most natural way for humans to live, and there were moments when it felt not just okay to live at Camp Chitaqua but almost idyllic in its simplicity and stark relief from the individualistic culture in which all these people had grown up.

Then, trucks would rumble in through the gates, back from a supply run or yet another fruitless mission in search of the colt or, around February's full moon, Tammy (though once again there was no sign of her). Dean would jump out of a truck, pulling a lifeless form out after him, slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Then, everyone would calmly leave what they were doing and set to gathering wood for a funeral pyre, because that was what they did when a soldier left and corpse was brought back.

Later, those trained in firearms would gather at the firing range to practice, and the background noise to the camp would be a steady series of bangs and thuds as bullets were fired into wooden targets shaped like people.

Then, Dean and Cas and a select few others would gather around a table and discuss their next moves; where they could find this demon or that demon and how they could launch assaults on this place or that place. They would openly discuss how many croats they had killed and how they had done it – not with pride – merely with a disinterested attention to detail, they would analyse all the human beings they spent their lives murdering without so much as a flicker of emotion.

And then it was clear that life at Camp Chitaqua was very, very wrong. There was nothing okay about this. The lives they were fighting for were already gone.

And that was generally when Cas would take as many drugs as possible. And, if Dean could, increasingly often, he would join him. They seemed to be closer these days – by their standards, things had been going pretty well – but it seemed as though Dean had fallen down to Cas's level rather than Cas being able to pull himself together.

But other days, Cas decided not to turn to the pills or drink. He would go for a long walks by himself. Well, he went for as long a walk as he possibly could inside the camp, and kept to himself as much as possible when there were lots of other people around who all knew him.

One day, he was doing this for probably about the tenth time in the past fortnight. He had come to enjoy it, look forward to it even. Especially when the sun was shining and the people he saw seemed to be reasonably content. He was down by the vegetable garden when Bobby approached him, carefully wheeling his way over the gravel path.

"Thought I might see you here," he called. Cas nodded and went to offer Bobby help to position his chair, but Bobby went on speaking before Cas got such a chance. "Dean's looking for you," he stated, turning to overlook the garden.

"Oh." Cas sat down on the ground next to Bobby. A moment passed in silence as Cas watched the bees flitting between the flowers. Cas was still able to keep track of several of them at once with his eyes, tracking the paths they took, watching as some of them would follow each other whereas others would fly off to some other place, seemingly at random.

Bobby broke the silence. "Let's not make this sappy and drawn out, boy, you gonna just tell me why you've been avoiding Dean?"

Cas brushed his hand over the grass and pulled a few blades free of the ground. "You have it backwards," he replied. "I'm not avoiding Dean. I just like to be alone."

"Hmm." Bobby thought about this for a moment. "Yeah, well, I like vintage whiskey. I like toilet paper. Hell, I liked my house. But we're post-apocalypse, in case you haven't noticed. We don't always get to have the things we  _like_."

Cas smiled. He liked Bobby a lot, even though Bobby didn't always necessarily  _like_  him. Whenever Bobby criticised Cas, it was because Cas needed to be criticised and get his shit together, and Cas was completely aware of that. Apart from Dean's, Bobby's were the only opinions that Cas really took on board and could put his faith in. "So," Bobby concluded, "You don't get to mope. Dean needs you."

Cas wanted to point out that he wasn't moping, but didn't bother. He spotted a couple of weeds growing between the lettuces and the carrots, and crawled forward on his hands and knees to set to pulling them out. He did all this in silence, Bobby simply watching him. The residual dampness of the earth seeped into his jeans and his skin, and the weeds left cuts in his bare hands. Cas didn't even mind the pain; it was rough and visceral and real and something about it made Cas feel grounded and pure.

He wished, in truth, that he didn't have to be a soldier anymore, having already been a soldier for countless millennia. If they lived through this, Cas thought that what he would really like would be to keep a garden, similar to the camp's vegetable garden. He could grow food for himself and Dean, and when his day's work was done he could sit back and watch the insects and the birds.

But right then, Cas didn't get to have the things he liked. Bobby was right. Other people, people who weren't soldiers, generally tended to this garden, and they grew decent food there which Cas very much enjoyed.

"Hey,  _Chance the gardener_ ," Bobby called to him, "you planning on ignoring me forever?"

"I'm not ignoring you, Bobby," Cas replied.

"Listen, when you see Dean, tell him I got an idea about what Lucifer was trying to get in Jerusalem. 'Cause I think he got it."

"What is it?" Cas turned suddenly to look at Bobby keenly.

"A weapon," Bobby said grimly. "I'm guessing you'll know more about it than me – but there have been sketchy reports coming in from Europe of plagues, rivers of blood..."

Castiel met Bobby's eyes for a moment in silence before he speculated, "The staff of Moses."

Bobby nodded. "Damn, wished I was wrong. I didn't even know it was a real physical staff that still existed."

"It is."

"Well  _no shit_ , Sherlock," Bobby shifted in his chair. "You got any ideas on what we do about it? How do we fight someone with a weapon like that if he brings it over here?"

Cas thought for a moment. "I wish I knew someone who could help. Balthazar could have, but he left when the other angels did and took what weapons he had with him, or hid them somewhere."

"You're sure he's gone?"

Cas nodded. "We've been over this. Angel radio is silent."

"Well," Bobby mused, "when was the last time you turned it on and checked?"

Cas narrowed his eyes and frowned, not replying. In truth, he hadn't tuned into angel radio in months – and when exactly had he started calling it  _angel radio_  in his own thoughts?

"If you say something on it..." Bobby asked tentatively. "Lucifer hears you?"

Cas nodded. "Lucifer. And no one else. Last time..." Cas trailed off uneasily.

"What he say to you?"

"The kind of things Lucifer says," Cas replied evasively.

Bobby nodded grimly. "Okay. Well, he's coming for us, and he's bringing the big guns. You gonna tell Dean all this?"

Cas narrowed his eyes at Bobby. "I think it would be more effective if we held a meeting."

"Yeah... we can do that tomorrow. I'm gonna be busy tonight reading up as much as I can, so don't come bother me. You two talk," Bobby encouraged, uncomfortably. "Now look, I ain't Oprah, so I'm only gonna say this once. Go see Dean and talk. Not just about Lucifer and what I said, about the two of you. Figure it out."

"Figure what out?"

"I don't know." Bobby rolled his eyes. "And I don't really want you to tell me. I just know you're the best friend he ever had. You're all he has."

"He has you."

"Yeah," Bobby replied sarcastically, gesturing to his wheelchair, "and a lot of good to him I am."

"Bobby..." Cas looked at him sympathetically.

"No. The last thing I need is your pity, boy." Bobby went on, changing the subject back to Dean and Cas, "I never know what's going on with you two. All I know is that you two idjits love each other more than either of you knows how to deal with. Neither of you are much good at this stuff, and I ain't in much of a place to give advice, either. But you two have something, and it ain't perfect, far from it, but it's a hell of a lot more than most people have. And with the world how it is, you can't afford to screw that up or throw it away."

"I would never throw it away," Cas replied immediately, defensively. After that they sat in awkward silence for a moment until Cas added, speaking more softly this time, "Dean means everything to me, you know that."

"Yeah, but he doesn't." Bobby responded, gruffly. "Look, are you gonna go or what? This is more hallmark than I'm comfortable with."

"I'll go." Cas smiled. "Thanks, Bobby."

"Don't mention it –  _really_ ," Bobby shot him a look, "don't mention it. Just go on, get out of here."

Cas got to his feet and left, returning to his cabin. By the time he got there, however, Dean was not there anymore, and apparently had gone out to a nearby farm where he knew a couple of people. Dean would be going there for food – and he would pay those people, too. Money wasn't worth a great deal to most people anymore, but the people at the farm a few miles away seemed to still want it, to still cling onto the hunger for  _profit_  – and because group gatherings like farmers' markets had been banned years ago there was no one much else to sell their food to.

While Dean was gone, Castiel resolved to cook something. The decision came upon him quite suddenly and out of the blue, and Cas smiled to himself momentarily and wondered whether other people would describe him as  _impulsive_.

People at the camp ate a lot of their meals communally, because it was just more economical that way. But they always had some small amount of food in their cabins too, for snacks and smaller meals, or meals at irregular times. Cas already had most of what he needed for what he had in mind, and was soon able to track down the rest, seeing as he usually just ate the communal food and didn't ask for anything else.

For a long time, eating had been nothing but a chore for Castiel. When he had first started to feel hunger, the disappointment he felt at his descent into humanity was tempered somewhat by the fact that he could eat cheeseburgers and pie whenever he wanted. But those foods were soon in short supply. The supply chains to restaurants collapsed, and most owners had to abandon their establishments anyway and run for their lives. Anyone with skills in agriculture suddenly found themselves in demand, sometimes being forcibly captured by groups of hunters (and anyone else who happened to have a gun and some nerve) and whisked away to a camp somewhere to grow food.

Camp Chitaqua wasn't run that way, though. For the time being, everyone who was there had chosen to be there and chosen to make whatever contribution to the little society that they could.

Cooking was not one of Cas's natural talents, despite the fact that he knew perfectly well how to do it in theory and had observed it for millennia. He still believed he could do it, though. The only way Cas knew how to make pastry was the simplest way, and he reasoned that to probably be best anyway considering the circumstances and the fact that the more there was for him to do, the more there was to go wrong. Dean did a better job of this and his process was slightly more involved, but Cas simply used flour, butter and water and made do with that, confident that he would work it out as he went along from what he remembered seeing other people do. He quickly realised that he should probably ask someone for help; having never actually done this entirely on his own – but no. He was angel of the lord. He could make a damn pie by himself. It couldn't be that hard.

It was that hard. Many hours later, though, he was done. He could hear a truck pulling up outside which signalled Dean's return as Cas took the pie from the oven and set it on a mat on the table. It didn't look great, with sort of caved-in pastry and gravy which had spilled out over the top and then burnt itself onto the crust, but Cas was confident that it was edible, anyway. He prodded at the few chunks of cured beef he had put in there to see that they were done, and reasoned that it probably  _tasted_  fine.

The instant that Dean stepped through the door Cas gestured towards the oven dish on the table, and, utterly without preamble, stated, "I made us a pie."

Dean's first reaction was to laugh, and Cas quickly went on, "I know I'm not as good at this as you are but you don't have time and I wanted to do something for you, but the pastry kind of came apart so I can't really get it out of the dish it was cooked in–"

" _Cas_ ," Dean interrupted him with a laugh and put his hands on Cas's shoulders. "This looks awesome." He leaned in and kissed Cas before talking off his jacket and sitting down at the table to eat.

Cas sat too, leaning in close to Dean to eat from the one dish, legs touching under the table as they started to eat.

"It's good," Dean told him, though the heat of it made him pause, resting his elbow on the table, holding the fork in front of him and watching as steam rose off the piece of pie on it. "You're cute sometimes."

Cas raised his eyebrows. "Only sometimes?"

"Hey, that was a compliment," Dean smiled shyly, and ate the morsel on his fork. "Accept it. Eat your damn pie."

Cas laughed and the atmosphere between them was relaxed even after they had talked about Lucifer and the staff of Moses. Dean accepted Cas's message from Bobby to discuss it further the next day without objection, which was a somewhat unusual thing for Dean to do. Anything to do with Lucifer was generally top priority and Dean would do anything possible about it immediately, but this time, he chose to stay with Cas instead.

The domesticity of it struck Cas as being unusual, though he wasn't sure why. He and Dean  _lived together_ , after all, and they generally ate together too. But mostly they did not sit together at their table and eat a meal – either going to the mess hall or eating snacks whenever they happened to be hungry.

Despite the fact that in talking about Lucifer they were implicitly talking about Sam, neither of them mentioned him. Dean could not be persuaded or cajoled into talking about Sam – he would either instigate the conversation himself or get angry at Cas and avoid talking to him at all for a few days – there was no in between. They resolved to go and talk with Bobby the following day to talk about their options, trying not to think about how grim their options were.

After eating, they went into the other room and Cas built up the fire, which was the only source of light in the darkened cabin, so he also lit a few candles and stood them on the tables and the chests of draws, bathing the room in dim, flickering orange.

Dean sat on the couch with his arm resting on the back and waited for Cas to come and sit next to him. Once he did so Dean's arm settled on his shoulders. Cas tilted his head back and studied Dean carefully, lit from one side by orange warmth. He looked tired, but he  _always_  looked tired these days. He smiled wanly and pulled Cas closer.

With a little uncertainty, Cas climbed onto his lap and got himself comfortable; putting his arm around Dean's shoulders, cupping the side of Dean's face with his free hand and pulling him in for a lazy kiss. Dean seemed glad that he did, resting his hand on Cas's thigh and sliding it down slowly. He broke their kiss to look disapprovingly at the dirt on Cas's knees from where he had knelt down to pull weeds out of the ground a few hours ago. "You don't want me to make the couch dirty," Cas smiled, "so I guess the only thing to do is take these off..."

"Hmm, I guess so..." Dean smiled and kissed Cas on the cheek, moving down to his jaw, then his neck. "How did you get all this mud on you anyway?" Dean asked with amusement while Cas pulled away and climbed off him.

"I was pulling out weeds," Cas replied, kicking off his shoes and slipping his jeans down over his hips to the floor, stepping out of them.

"Why?" Asked Dean, thought he didn't wait for an answer before reaching out and taking hold of the waistband at the front of Cas's navy blue boxers to pull Cas forward again.

Cas let himself be pulled back into Dean's lap, returning his arm to it's place around Dean's shoulders and leaning in closer. They smiled at each other and Cas totally forgot he'd even been asked a question when Dean cupped the side of his face and kissed him.

"Come here..." Dean muttered, breaking the kiss to get Cas to turn around and straddle him. Dean was breathing a little quickly, his hands eagerly slipping under Cas's shirt.

Cas kissed him again. "I thought it was  _cleanliness_  that got you going?"

"It is," Dean smiled. "But... something about this, the way you smell of earth and sweat and food..." Dean lightly kissed Cas's throat and the side of his neck, trailing up to his ear. "Want to make you smell of sex, too, Cas..." Cas's breath caught in his throat as Dean added, "If I had more blood going to my brain right now I could come up with some hippie crap for you about the two of us getting back to nature..."

_Hippie crap. Two of Dean's favourite words_. "Dean... you and your labels," he sighed as he pushed Dean's plaid shirt back over his shoulders and down his arms. Cas smirked a little. "We never talk about  _your_  labels, Dean."

"And we're not gonna start," Dean replied gruffly, pulling Cas in for more kisses and pushing his shirt up higher until Cas pulled it off over his head.

By this point Cas was practically naked then while Dean was still fully dressed, which Cas pointed out as being a most unfortunate predicament. Dean got Cas up on his knees astride him, so Dean could kiss his way down Cas's stomach, his hands settling on Cas's ass. Dean sank down further in the seat until he could pull Cas's hips towards his face, mouthing at Cas's growing erection through his underwear. "Take these off," he commanded, his voice vibrating against Cas's groin and making rather a persuasive point.

Cas stood and as quickly as possible pushed his underwear down and stepped out of them, practically jumping back into Dean's lap, which made him laugh and throw his arms around Cas's body, pulling him close, pressing his face to Cas's hair. "Cas," he murmured, "you get so... uninhibited."

Cas went still and exhaled sharply in frustration, not wanting to talk about shame, absolutely refusing to apologise for his lack of it. "I don't see why I should hold myself back, Dean."

"No, you shouldn't," Dean pulled Cas tight against his body and held him still, smiling, one hand running through Cas's hair and cradling the back of his head. "You don't get it; that's what I'm saying. You're so  _free_  when you're like this, Cas. It's awesome. I love seeing you like this." Dean eagerly pulled Cas is for a deep kiss.

Cas's hands slid under Dean's shirt, fingers bumping over every undulation of his ribs until Dean lifted his arms and let Cas pull the shirt off. Dean shuffled forwards on the seat until they were pressed together, Cas's erection trapped between them. If Cas felt warm then Dean surely felt warmer, still wearing his pants and having Cas's body against him and arms and legs wrapped around him.

Dean broke away from Cas to lie back on the seat and unfasten his pants. Cas held his shoulders and watched as Dean pushed them down, underwear going with them. Cas drank in the sight; familiar but in no way less exciting for being so. This was Dean giving himself to Cas, giving all of himself, physically, to convey what Dean seemed to have lost the ability to say. These were the moments they had each other.

Dean's eyes locked with Cas he sat up straight again to kiss his way up Cas's chest until he reached the sensitive spot just above his clavicle. His hand slid up Cas's thigh and Cas involuntarily bucked his hips forward in anticipation of Dean's hand around him, taking in a deep, fast breath when Dean did touch him.

"Fuck, Cas... I want you so bad." Dean panted against Cas's neck and Cas whimpered involuntarily as Dean's fingers left his cock and crept back, teasing at his entrance. Dean took Cas's earlobe between his teeth and murmured, "Need to be inside you right now Cas..."

Cas quickly pulled back and crashed his lips against Dean's desperately, moaning into their kiss. It took supreme effort for Cas to break away and dash across the room to the nightstand to get some lube. As condoms were in short supply they were generally going without these days, reasoning that people in danger of getting knocked up needed them more. They had gone without a few times in the past, sometimes because they had run out, sometimes just out of impatience. But as Cas was a human now he did have to concern himself with such trivial matters as hygiene and preventing infection, as did Dean, of course, but this was just one of the many awkward things about the apocalypse. Cas brought one over anyway, so they had the option.

He returned to straddle Dean's lap and took Dean's right hand in his own, opening up the bottle of lube and slicking Dean's fingers with it, keeping his eyes locked on Dean's as he did so, and as he guided Dean's hand between his legs. The substance still felt cool against his skin but soon warmed up as Dean pressed a fingertip against him, gently, easing his way in. Cas still had the slick substance on his hands so took hold of Dean's cock with both – and Dean sighed as Cas's wrapped his hands around Dean's tick, trailing a line up the underside with his fingertips, paying special attention to the head, circling round the ridge of it.

Dean had one finger inside him and worked on adding a second as Cas leaned forward for a kiss, simultaneously wrapping his fingers around Dean's cock again and giving him long, easy strokes. Cas broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to Dean's, panting as Dean's fingers rubbed over the bundle of nerves inside him and worked him open. "More," Cas mumbled, "need it now, Dean..."

Dean's hand cradled the back of his neck and he pulled him in for another kiss. "Ready when you are," he replied, a smile playing across his lips.

Cas applied more lube to Dean's cock, coating it thoroughly and then pulling Dean's hand away from him.

Dean sank back on the couch until he was almost lying down, his hands resting lightly on Cas's thighs, his eyes heavily lidded as he watched Cas position himself. One hand on Dean's shoulder, and one on his cock to guide him in, Cas lowered himself down until the blunt head was pressed up against him. He gasped a little at the first stretch as he was breached, the burning, over-full sensation making him tense up reflexively. But once the tip of Dean's cock was inside, Cas could relax, letting himself sink down further until Dean was sheathed in him.

Both hands on Dean's shoulders, Cas leaned forward and shifted until he was comfortable and had leverage enough to move, dragging his hips up slowly and then easing himself back down. Cas really should have prepared more so he took his time letting his body get used to the feeling, Dean watching him patiently, canting his hips back a little on Cas's downward movements, and every time he did Cas could feel Dean brush up against the sensitive spot inside him. Cas's head dropped forward as the pleasure rushed through him, overwhelming his senses and paralysing him, making it hard for him to move.

"Cas..." Dean's hands moved up to his waist, holding him tighter. "Kiss me." Cas didn't have to be told twice, immediately raising his head and closing the distance between them. He cradled the back of Dean's head as he felt Dean's lips hot and wet against his own, his tongue darting out seeking entrance into Cas's mouth. Cas parted his lips and met Dean's tongue with his own while he steadily rocked his hips, increasing in speed until he felt totally comfortable with Dean inside him, until being filled by him was pure pleasure and Cas needed more of it.

Cas broke the kiss and pulled Dean to sit, mumbling half-coherent instructions. Dean complied and sat up straight, his arms snaking around Cas's back as Cas moved his knees further forward. This was actually kind of an awkward way to do this and it was only possible if he anchored himself firmly to Dean, but Cas didn't care. He wanted to be close to Dean, to be able to kiss him, pulling back along Dean's length until only the tip was inside, and then quickly bucking his hips down and taking Dean deep into him. Cas's hand was firmly on the back of Dean's head, holding him still, their lips just millimetres apart. Cas was looking down at Dean like this, eyes locked as he rode Dean's cock. Dean kept looking right back at him, keeping eye-contact as much as he could as this was the only time Dean really got to express his feelings, this was the only way Dean could love freely and completely just as he was capable of doing.

Dean watched Cas reverently, trying to move forward for a kiss, but only feeling Cas's lips brush over his on particularly erratic movements of his hips. A small whine rose in Dean's throat, and that was all Cas wanted to hear, all he could take. He kissed Dean again, even deeper than before, pushing his tongue past Dean's lips to taste him. The low moan in Dean's throat vibrated through Cas and he moved faster, despite the protestation of the muscles in his legs at moving in this position for so long.

Eventually, breathless, Cas had to stop or at least slow down, just for a moment. As he broke their kiss he and Dean were both panting heavily, eyes closed, sweat-slicked foreheads pressed together. Cas took the opportunity to apply some more lube and rolled his hips deliciously slowly, feeling every inch of Dean's cock as it slid up into him, filling him up, brushing slowly over his prostate. "You..." Cas mumbled, pushed Dean by the shoulders so he was lying back again. Dean understood, his hands gripping Cas's hips tightly and holding him in place so that Dean could thrust up into him. Cas tightened his grip on Dean's shoulders, nails digging into the skin as he felt Dean moving inside him, hips snapping up against his ass in a fast, hot rhythm.

Dean's eyes dropped to Cas's cock, flushed read and leaking up against his stomach. "Haven't even touched yourself, Cas, you want me to?" Cas could only press his lips together and shake his head to say no, and Dean smirked playfully, eyes fixed on Cas's once again and showing no sign of breaking away. "Yeah, you don't even need it do you? Just need my cock in you..." Cas moaned by way of reply as Dean increased his pace, until he started to get close and slowed down again. Cas took a deep, shaking breath and leaned down closer to Dean again hands splayed over his broad, freckled shoulders.

Cas held himself still for a moment, getting his breath back. Dean's eyes blazed into his now, silently begging Cas to move, begging for Cas to fuck himself on Dean's cock until they both came. Cas smiled and moved his hips slowly at first, leaning in to kiss Dean briefly before picking up the pace.

It was an inevitability then, Cas riding Dean hard and fast, Dean meeting Cas's thrusts, throwing his head back and panting Cas's name. Cas's dick rubbed against Dean's stomach, and that was just enough friction to push him close to the edge. Cas's body tensed as he clamped down around Dean's cock. "Dean!" Cas cried out brokenly as his hips slammed down and he came, spilling all over himself and Dean and shaking as he tried to keep moving. Dean's hands guided Cas's hips until he reached his climax as well, holding Cas tight against him and releasing his come deep inside Cas with a groan.

They fell back together against the back of the couch, panting hard, shaking and coming down slowly from their high.

Cas kissed Dean's chest lazily, moving up to his neck, to which Dean hummed contentedly and ran his fingers through Cas's hair. There was a warm, wet sensation as Dean's come leaked out of Cas, which made Dean wince a little. Dean pushed himself to sit carried Cas over to the bed so they could lie down together and get cleaned up, and being manhandled and carried around like that was something Cas enjoyed more than he ever imagined he could.

After that Dean was spread out on his back on the bed, chest rising and falling, one of Cas's arms draped over it his hand splayed over Dean's heated skin, the contact sending a warm, fuzzy feeling through Cas as he curled up next to Dean, closing his eyes and feeling sleep wash over him. The fire was gradually dying down, less capable of keeping out the dark, and barely put out more light than the candles. Dean stirred and let his arm fall gently against Cas's waist. "Candles..." he said groggily. Cas hummed in reply but didn't move, so Dean pushed him a little more insistently, mumbling, "'S a fire hazard..."

They finally, wearily, got up to attend to the candles and other routine things so that they could go to bed properly, climbing under the covers naked and in almost total darkness as the last embers of the fire died away. Cas shifted closer, straightening his body and lying against Dean, the expanse of warm skin pressed against his sending a tingling sensation through his body which settled low in his stomach and made his cock twitch with interest.

Cas propped himself up to kiss Dean slowly, lovingly, letting this unfold naturally until Dean's arms were round him, hands sliding over Cas back and gently massaging away the dull ache in his muscles. Cas deepened the kiss and Dean let out a small hum of satisfaction as Cas moved to lie on top of him, not ready to go to sleep just yet after all.


	6. Dust in the Wind

**6: Dust in the Wind**

A few days had passed since Bobby had told Cas what he knew about Lucifer's movements in Europe. They had discussed it repeatedly and not come up with any particular solutions – until Cas had woken up in the middle of the night with a half-baked idea that may or may not be useful, written it down and then gone back to sleep.

It was the next morning, after telling Dean a little about it, that Dean decided to convene a meeting, though Bobby was the only person he invited. Dean did this while they had breakfast in the mess hall.

As soon as breakfast was over Cas and Dean walked over to the meeting cabin together side by side, hands brushing together lightly in such a way that made Cas long to grab hold of Dean's hand and just stroll through the camp like that, but that wasn't the way Dean behaved in front of other people. Bobby had been in the middle of talking with someone else so would probably be a few minutes.

In the meeting cabin, Dean pulled a chair away from the wall and sat down, leaning back and propping his legs up on the table. Cas remained standing for the moment, leaning back against the table, resting his hands on it. Their eyes met and a spark of something flickered behind the green, Dean putting his feet back down on the floor and breaking into a smile. “C'mere...” Dean grabbed hold of Cas's belt, and though Cas rolled his eyes, in truth he let himself be pulled down – falling into Dean's lap, wrapping his arms around Dean's shoulders and kissing him. This was just part of a general improvement in things between them, a renewed interest on the part of them both. And not just physically, of course, but they also talked more these days than they had for a few months. Cas had no idea how long they kissed for, and didn't care to know, wanting to stay in this moment forever, freeze it and preserve it carefully in all its perfect detail and just  _be with Dean_. Of course Cas loved it when they kissed hot and heavy and urgent while they tore clothes off each other, but there were times when this was better. This kiss was simple, easy, perfect – one of Dean's arms around Cas's slim waist holding him close, one hand in Cas's hair, running through it gently, cradling the back of his head.

Cas pulled back momentarily and opened his eyes, waiting for Dean to meet his gaze and maintaining it as Cas pressed a few brief, gentle kisses to Dean's lips, all simple affection light brushes of lips. Dean smiled and closed his eyes, his lips flushed red from kissing, long eyelashes fanned over his cheeks and Cas took a moment to just  _look_  at him, the admiration of Dean's beauty now causing the all too human ache of longing in his chest – but able to enjoy the feeling because he  _had_  Dean again these days. Dean opened his eyes to look at Cas playfully as he slipped a hand between Cas's thighs and moved it upwards, turning his hand around to hold Cas's other thigh firmly. Cas cupped the side of Dean's face, closed his eyes and kissed Dean again, fingers lightly brushing over the hair at his temple and above his ear, tongue flicking out to tease at his lips.

The sound of the door opening interrupted them, and Cas twisted around to see Bobby enter the room, wheeling himself along.

Cas expected Dean to suddenly and awkwardly let go of him and push him away, but he didn't. Dean tensed up noticeably, but that was all. Cas met his eyes briefly and calmly got off his lap to get the other chair, pulling it close to Dean and sitting down.

“You sent for me?” Bobby asked, wryly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “We've got to talk about Lucifer and all this Staff of Moses crap. We gotta be able to fight this thing, we need something with the mojo-”

“Oh, well, no problem,” Bobby answered sarcastically, “didn't I ever mention that I got an old trunk of Heaven's weapons sittin' in my basement?”

Dean rolled his eyes and gazed up at the ceiling in the way he had that was particular to his interactions with people he was close to, and Cas couldn't help but smile in spite of what they were talking about. He remembered Dean making those expressions with Sam, back when they were all together.

“Like I said,” Bobby shrugged, “I don't know of anything that can counteract it, neither does Cas. I'm open to suggestions if you got 'em.”

Cas leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table. “I do have an idea of how we can at least protect this camp. There is a spell to protect certain areas from Heaven's weapons – but it is very complex.” Cas went on to list all the ingredients they would need, all of which were hard to come by. “So,” Cas concluded, looking at Bobby, “that's what we need, but I would have no idea how to go about getting such things by mortal means.”

“Well I haven't even got all my  _mortal means_ ,” Bobby replied raising his hand slightly from the armrest of his wheelchair.

Dean shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly, in discomfort. “Any ideas where we can get any of this stuff, Bobby?”

“One,” Bobby replied. “But you're not gonna like it.”

Dean sighed. “Your house.”

“My house. Assuming it's still there, of course.” Bobby then went on to explain which things he thought he had in his house. 

 

* * *

 

They left for Bobby's house a couple of hours before dawn the next day, trying to make the trip and return in one day, thus minimising their time out at night.

Dean and Cas took Bobby in the back of a silver station wagon, and Bobby of course hated the whole business of being lifted in and out of his wheelchair and was generally cantankerous the entire journey.

They finally arrived to find Bobby's house much as it had been left – though a few windows had been broken it appeared that nothing much had been disturbed or taken inside. The house had that particular smell of stagnation that homes tend to get when they lie unoccupied for a long time; in this case the smell of damp from the rain that crawled in and the resulting degradation of the walls, the furniture, and the books.

Bobby grumbled about this and wheeled himself into the kitchen, and Dean followed.

Bobby reached into his jacket. “Here,” he handed Dean a photograph – a photograph of himself, Cas and some others outside Camp Chitaqua. “Put this behind the loose brick – you know the one. In case anyone comes looking for me.”

“Like who?” Dean asked, with a frown.

“Hey,” Bobby chided him. “I know people. And anyone I  _want_  finding me will know to look there.”

Dean shrugged and agreed to put the photograph behind the loose brick in the wall, all of which Cas watched with some interest. Without any kind of telepathy humans had been forced to work out endless complicated little ways of communicating with each other, and of re-uniting if they were ever separated. 

“So,” Dean wiped the dust on his hands off on his jeans, having replaced the brick. “Where is this crap?”

“Upstairs,” Bobby replied uncomfortably. He reached into his jacket and handed Dean a ring of keys. “At the room at the end of the hall, there's a trunk.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Is it a good idea for me to ask how you came by bones of nuns?”

“Probably not.”

“Right,” Dean smiled but surreptitiously shot Cas a look, which Bobby caught.

“Hey,” Bobby interjected. “I can look around down here. I don't need babysitting.”

Dean nodded and turned around, but he flinched and drew his gun all within a second. Standing behind them was a woman – a demon – the same one that Dean and Cas had seen in Kansas City a few weeks previously.

“You again,” Dean growled.

“You've met?” Bobby interjected, looking between them, turning to face her.

“We've  _all_  met,” she laughed, standing there unaramed and entirely casual. She spoke amiably, “And I  _told you_  I'd see you again. Now, I'm sure all you trigger-happy boys would love an excuse to shoot me, so I'll cut to the chase. Crowley wants to talk to you.”

Cas narrowed his eyes and took a step forward. “Crowley's alive?”

“You bet,” the demon replied.

“We heard different,” Dean retorted.

“Crowley's a wanted man,” she went on wearily. “He wants people thinking he's dead. But he's alive, and he's got an offer to make you. Do you want to hear it?”

She paused, and Bobby got impatient. “What is this, twenty questions? Get on and tell us what his damn offer is.”

“We're not considering any offers from Crowley!” Dean snapped. “Not after last time.”

“That wasn't his fault,” she insisted.

“We don't have time to argue about this,” Cas interjected, acutely conscious of the fact that croats could attack at any second, or demons, and this demon may even be deliberately stalling for time to ensure just that.

“Okay,” she insisted. “Crowley can get you the colt. He just wants to talk.”

“Here's my counter,” Dean reached for the demon-killing knife and drew it. “I kill you right now. When Crowley doesn't hear from you for a while, think he'll get the message?”

“Oh, Dean,” she smiled, “You never were one for the more delicate negotiations...”

Dean glanced at Cas and Bobby as if they may somehow have understood her where he didn't. “Do we know each other?”

“It's been a long time,” she replied. “But the time flies by in Hell – though of course, you know that, don't you Dean...?”

“Who are you?”

She smiled coldly. “I got through a few names, and I've got through a few more since. You knew me as Bela Talbot.”

“Son of a bitch...” Dean laughed, though Cas still didn't know who that was. “I knew I recognised your smarmy British ass. You're the one who stole the colt from us in the first place!”

“Indeed,” she smiled. “And I gave it to Crowley.”

“Gave or sold?” Bobby retorted.

“Gave, sold, what does it matter now?” Bela relied tersely. “That gun has been stolen more times than the takeaway Rembrandt. Crowley has it now, but it's a dangerous thing to have. Lucifer is coming back to the states to see that it's recovered. You don't have much time.”

Dean laughed. “Oh, so this is a one-day-only deal? Just for us, just today, you'll make us a great offer? Save your snake-oil tricks.”

“This is pointless,” Cas interjected, losing patience with this whole matter. “We worked with Crowley before, and even if he  _didn't_  betray us to Meg and the side of Lucifer, that simply means he failed us.”

Dean glanced at Cas and nodded. “What he said.”

“Fine,” she held up her hands. “I'll be on my way.” And with that, she somehow vanished into thin air, and was gone.

“Dammit,” Dean grumbled, searching for her. “I thought Crowley was the demon who could fucking  _teleport_ –”

“Dean,” Cas interrupted. “We should get out of here.”

“Okay,” Dean nodded. “I'll be as fast as I can. Look after Bobby.”

Dean disappeared up the stairs then, and Bobby rolled his eyes at the notion of being  _looked after_. Cas stalked the perimeter of the house, trying to sense whether there were any more demons coming, but as far as he could tell, there weren't. Cas couldn't understand how Bela had appeared and disappeared without his registering any warning – or how she had disappeared at all. There was something very suspect about the whole thing – which was what one expected from Crowley and anyone in his employ.

Cas returned to the living room, where Bobby had an ancient book open on the table and was reading it.

“Who was Bela?” Cas asked. “What do you think of what she said?”

Bobby scoffed. “She was a tricksy bitch when she was alive; I doubt becoming a demon made her any more honest.”

“I see,” Cas nodded. “What is this book?”

“Ancient spells,” Bobby explained. “Might wanna take it.”

“Hmm,” Cas frowned and ran his fingertips over the side of one of the thick pages.

“That ain't paper,” Bobby told him, with a wry smile. “It's human skin.”

Cas nodded disinterestedly and looked around the house again, wondering whether he heard something, or whether that was just the sound of Dean doing something upstairs.

“Of course,” Bobby said, with a smile, “You aren't a wimp about stuff like that. You seen cuneiform written on human skin before, and much more besides, I suppose-”

“Shh.” Cas made the sound sharply, freezing in place. He didn't know what it was, but he knew something was very wrong. The hairs stood up on the back of Cas's neck, and he finally understood the expression of what it meant to feel one's skin crawl. Cas narrowed his eyes, concentrating on what he could hear – there was nothing, and yet, something was registering with him, something he was picking up with one of the many senses he no longer had proper access to, his human(ish) brain utterly unequipped to process it. He whispered, “We have to go.”

“Get Dean,” Bobby whispered back, immediately grasping the seriousness of the situation.

Cas turned and met Bobby's eyes, but Bobby threw his glance towards the stairs, silently repeating his instruction. Cas whispered, “Stay very quiet and still.”

“Do I look like an idjit?” Bobby whispered back, raising his shot-gun filled with rock salt.

Cas managed a small smile as he crept toward the staircase, making his way up it as fast as he could.

He saw Dean in the room at the end of the hall, kneeling over an open trunk. Dean looked at Cas questioningly but knew to stay quiet until Cas reached him. Cas crouched and whispered, “We have to go. I think demons are close to the house.”

Dean didn't ask how he knew, he just nodded, shoving a few items into his backpack. Cas left him there and quickly made his way back downstairs – knowing he could not leave Bobby down there alone.

Cas reached the foot of the staircase – and it all happened so fast. Shots rang out, the air full of a cacophony of noise. Several demons rushed in through the door – more than Cas could accurately count – eight, ten, maybe more. They fired at him and Cas drew his salt-round shot gun and fired back, knowing that he hit several of them, but they were all running at him, guns blazing.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline, but the bullet that hit Cas's shoulder felt like nothing more than a punch in the arm. He thought of calling out Bobby's name, but just in time it occurred to him that Bobby may have managed to hide, and Cas shouldn't give him away.

“Cas!” Dean appeared at the top of the stairs, grabbing Cas's elbow and pulled him by the arm, and that was when pain exploded in Cas's shoulder. There was another impact in his leg which did register, making him stumble and limp up the stairs. Dean dragged him down the corridor and into the room at the end, slamming the door.

Dean turned on a stereo, muttering  _please_  under his breath, pressing play and turning up the volume. Suddenly all Cas could hear was the sound of a pre-recorded exorcism, blaring out of the speakers. Dean dragged Cas to the corner of the room and aimed his gun at the door, ready to fire at anything that came through it but, mercifully, nothing did.

The recording ended and then all Cas could hear was Dean's breathing, and the house was silent. Cas took a step towards the door and Dean followed, turning the stereo off. Cas felt slightly delirious; there was blood on the floor of this room, and he didn't understand where it had come from. “Cas, wait,” Dean urged him.

But Cas just replied with “Bobby,” and pulled open the door. There were two bodies in the corridor outside, scorched floorboards beneath them from where the demons had smoked out and returned to Hell. Cas crept forward and bent down to check for pulses – but both were dead. He stood up and felt dizzy, suddenly staggering as if he were about to fall down.  _What's happening to me?_  He wondered, as Dean's concerned face came into focus. “Cas,” Dean said gently. “Wait here. You need to take care of yourself.”

“I'm fine, Dean,” Cas replied dumbly. “Bobby...”

Dean nodded, and went on ahead without Cas, to the stairs, and disappearing down them. Cas's delirium was getting worse now. Why was he letting Dean go alone? He had to go...

Then it hit him. Cas's eyes caught by his right leg, the bottom of his jeans soaked in blood. “Oh,” he said aloud, realising finally that the blood was his, that he had been shot. He crumpled and sank down to sit on the floor, simultaneously becoming aware of how much his left shoulder hurt and realising that he was bleeding from there, too.

Cas rolled up his jeans, wincing at the intense pain that suddenly shot through him. He took out a knife and cut into the shirt of the dead demon in front of him, tearing off several strips. The bullet had passed through Cas's leg, and Cas dimly remembered what to do. He padded the wound with material and tied a strand of the shirt around his leg tightly, fighting his way through the pain that that brought on.

He then pushed down the collar of his shirt to look at his shoulder, thinking quite clinically about this whole thing, as if he were treating a patient, not himself. His shoulder was okay – the bullet had more grazed him than gone through him, and though he was losing a fair amount of blood, it looked worse than it was and there was no significant damage there.

Unsteadily, Cas got back to his feet.

“Cas!” He heard Dean's broken voice call to him from the bottom of the stairs, and all he could do was walk forward, not really registering what he was doing.

He looked down at Dean and the look on his friend's face terrified him because Dean was terrified, and distraught. “Bobby?” Cas asked.

Dean clenched his jaw. “Come on.”

Cas shook his head, trying to clear his vision. He followed Dean out to the car, where Dean wrenched open the back door, pushing Cas in. There, lying on the back seat was Bobby, and at first, Cas assumed that he was dead. “Treat him!” Dean shouted, desperately, getting into the car, pulling away and accelerating hard, tearing away from Bobby's house.

Cas moved forward, kneeling over Bobby's body. The man's eyes were closed, he did not look to be breathing, though Cas could tell that he was – but only slowly and shallowly. He had four wounds in his abdomen and was losing a lot of blood, his clothes absolutely saturated with it – so much so that Cas could smell and  _taste_  iron in the air. Even in Cas's state, he was absolutely cognizant of the fact that Bobby was dying.

“Dean,” he said weakly, “drive to a hospital.”

“There are no hospitals open, not for hundreds of miles.”

“Drive to a closed hospital, perhaps–”

“Dammit Cas!” Dean shouted back. “We can't get into a hospital, heal him, treat him!”

“Dean...” Cas tried to look at him, but Dean only glanced back.

“Don't look at me you fucking moron! Treat him, now!”

“There's nothing I can do!” Cas shouted back.

“Try!”

Cas turned around, pulling open a first aid kid, pulling out bandages. With his knife he sliced open Bobby's shirt, but that confirmed it, as if confirmation were needed. Bobby must have been shot in the back; these were exit wounds... there wasn't a chance. Not the slightest chance.

“Dean,” Cas said weakly.

Cas heard him slam his hands against the steering wheel. “Cas please!” His voice was breaking, clearly on the verge of tears. “Please!” He shouted desperately, choked with sobs.

“Dean, stop the car.”

“No!”

“Dean, if you want to say goodbye–”

Dean suddenly slammed on the brakes and brought the car skidding to a halt in the middle of an abandoned highway. He leapt out of the driving seat, wrenched open the back door and before Cas could react he was being yanked roughly out of the car by the back of his shirt. He fell backwards onto the tarmac as Dean crawled into the car in front of him, frantically repeating Bobby's name – but Cas utterly understood and forgave him that.

Shakily, Cas got back to his feet, looking around for any sign of demons or croats, but there didn't appear to be any. He limped around to the other side of the car, climbing into the passenger seat.

“Bobby!” Dean was leaning over him, trying to get him to at least wake up.

To Cas's surprise, he did, opening his eyes blearily. “Dean...” Bobby's voice was almost inaudible.

“Bobby please,” Dean sobbed, “Just hang on, you're gonna be okay. You've come back from worse than this, Bobby, it's gonna be okay...”

“Don't bullshit me, boy.” Bobby rasped. “Not while I'm dying.”

Dean sobbed and laughed at the same time, tears streaming down his face. 

"At least I went down with a gun in my hands," Bobby said quietly, his eyes unfocused.

"Hey!" Dean shouted. "No, don't talk like that, come on, you're not down yet." 

“Listen...” Bobby looked at Dean earnestly, and Cas realised that Dean was holding Bobby's hand. Bobby went on, “You find that gun...” Bobby's eyes fluttered and he visibly tried to focus his gaze on Dean, “...and you tear Lucifer a new one for me, son.”

“I will, Bobby,” Dean sobbed, a few more tears escaping down his face.

Bobby's eyes lost focus, and he never said anything else.

“No... no! Bobby!” Dean cried, the desperation and devastation in his voice heartbreaking. “Cas, please, please do something Cas – please...”

Cas suddenly felt tears well up in his eyes as he watched Dean fall apart as Bobby died in front of him. Cas virtually never cried, but at the helplessness of not being able to save Bobby, at seeing how distraught Dean was, Cas felt empathy well up in him and spill out in the form of tears. This was a thousand times worse than the pain of his own injuries; this was the worst, most horrifying form of torture, and Cas reeled from Dean's misery, from his own powerlessness, and cried. Cas found that his nose was running and had to sniff, which made Dean look at him in slight surprise, though he quickly looked back down at Bobby.

Cas's eye was caught then by someone outside the car – and for a split second he panicked – until he realised that it was Bobby's soul, and standing beside it, a reaper. Castiel could still see things in the veil. Bobby's eyes met his, and Cas saw Bobby realise that Cas could see him.

Bobby peered in through the window and looked as if he wanted to stay, wanted to stay to help Dean, but Cas just shook his head. Bobby watched Dean for a long time. Cas tried not to stare at him, not wanting Dean to notice what he was doing. Drawing out death beyond death always led to pain – Cas had well and truly learned that over the course of his millions of years. It was best that Dean didn't know. Finally, Bobby looked at Cas forlornly and nodded.

The reaper extended a hand to Bobby, and Bobby reluctantly let it take hold of his arm, walking off with him. Cas somehow could not perceive the point in time in which they disappeared, but they did do so, leaving the mortal coil behind. Bobby was gone.

* * *

 

The next few hours passed as if in a dream. Somehow, Cas managed to keep himself together enough to drive them back to the camp, and of course, the first thing they did was make a funeral pyre for Bobby.

People died all the time, but everyone at the camp understood the significance of this death for their  _fearless leader_. Everyone knew how important Bobby was.

But Dean was stony faced, his expression betraying nothing. He gathered and chopped wood, and then picked up Bobby's body, wrapped up in sheets, and laid it on top of the pyre. He hadn't said a word to Cas and Cas hadn't said a word to him – partly because they were both at a loss for what to say, and partly because they both knew that privately, inside, Dean was barely holding it together and the slightest thing was liable to make him collapse.

They all stood around for a respectful amount of time, but the truth was, burning bodies was consistently traumatic, no matter how many one saw. It took so long – and the  _smell_  – it didn't bear thinking about. But Dean stayed for hours, patiently waiting for the fire to die down, and Cas waited with him, in silence.

The only pause was when Azaria came to properly dress Cas's wounds, which had mostly stopped bleeding by then, and once cleaned and bandaged up, Cas could tolerate them. They still throbbed with pain, but Cas needed the pain. Bobby was dead because Cas hadn't got back to him fast enough. Cas felt that he needed to hurt, to atone.

By the time the fire did die down, it late at night and pitch dark, and besides, they had to leave the ashes to cool off before disposing of them. Dean and Cas turned and trudged side by side back to their cabin, still in silence, everyone else in the camp knowing better than to make any attempt to speak to them.

Once inside, Dean kicked off his boots, shrugged off his jacket, and then sat quite still. Ashen faced, he stared blankly ahead – and this was painfully reminiscent of  _Detroit_  – the night that Dean learned of Sam saying  _Yes_  to Lucifer.

Despite everything they had been through since, Cas was at a loss as to what to do to help. All he could see was the devastation that he had caused; Cas believed that he should have reacted faster in Bobby's house, he should have saved him, he should have done more, been better. The more Cas thought about it the more he realised that he had failed, and now the most important man in Dean's life was dead. Cas had no idea whether Dean blamed him, but knew that he should. Cas felt that he had let Dean down unforgivably by letting Bobby die, by not being good enough to save that man's life.

“Dean...” Cas said, weakly, a lump rising in his throat. “I'm sorry.”

Dean took a sharp breath, his lip trembled, and he started to cry – his façade of self-control crumbling before Cas's eyes. He sounded utterly lost when he said, “I don't know what to do now, Cas.”

Cas was at a lost for what to say. “We... we keep going.”

“For how long?!” Dean shouted suddenly, getting to his feet. “How much more is this going to take from us? Do I have to–” he looked at Cas, a few tears falling from his eyes. “Do I have to lose you, too?” He looked away, and Cas wished desperately that he knew what to say, how to help.

“Dean,” he said tentatively, “I know you don't think you can do this without Bobby, but you can.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

Cas shrugged, at a loss for what to say, and Dean suddenly began to shout at him. “This isn't about the apocalypse or killing Lucifer!” He cried despairingly. “I can't even think about that right now, Cas... Bobby was– That man was like a father to me!” Dean shouted, losing control of himself completely. “My mom, my dad, my brother – and now Bobby too!” His voice became uneven, starting to break with emotion, and Cas could now see Dean totally falling apart in front of him. “I can't do this anymore Cas, I've got nothing more to give, I can't, I can't...”

He fell to his knees and Cas immediately went to him, kneeling on the floor in front of Dean and throwing his arms around him. Dean took a deep breath and suddenly his hands were clutching desperately at Cas's shirt, his face buried against Cas's chest and he cried – cried in a way that Cas had never seen him cry before. Dean let go completely – let his body shake with sobs as the anguish flooded through him.

Soon, they were in a crumpled heap on the floor, Dean lying half on top of Cas, clinging to the fallen angel as if his life depended on it – and maybe it did. Cas stroked Dean's hair, planted kisses on his forehead, wanted desperately to comfort him, but still couldn't think of anything to say. There were no words for this.

“Cas...” Dean managed, brokenly, clutching at Cas's body. “Please...” It was a general plea, something Dean didn't truly understand, borne out of a profound, all-consuming sense of complete and utter desolation. Dean processed his grief the only way he knew how, the only way that made any kind of sense to him, the way that human beings often did. “I need you...” Dean murmured, sliding his hand down Cas's stomach and coming to rest on his thigh.

“Dean.” Cas took hold of Dean's hand in his own. “Let's go to bed, okay, let's go to sleep.”

Shakily, they got their feet and went over to their bed, climbing under the covers together. Cas bundled the covers around them both and held Dean close in his arms, with some ridiculous notion that by doing so he could make Dean feel safe.

“I need you,” Dean repeated, hollowly, his hand under Cas's shirt in the dip of his waist.

“You have me, Dean," Cas pressed his face to Dean's hair. "Always.” Cas held Dean close and kissed his forehead, willing with everything he had that Dean could go to sleep, find some peace.

Within seconds, Dean became quiet and still. Cas thought for a moment that that was his doing – but surely not. Castiel's power was gone; he couldn't heal people, and he had totally failed to protect Bobby. But in that moment, Cas had wanted so badly to do something to help Dean, and in the next second Dean was asleep and Cas felt exhausted all of a sudden. Could he possibly have done this? Cas lacked the strength to think about it anymore. His eyelids felt heavy and fell closed, the world seemed to fade around him, and all he was aware of was Dean asleep in his arms. 


	7. The Union

It was not an overstatement to say that Dean was a complete and utter mess without Bobby; barely sleeping or eating but redoubling his efforts to search for the colt, going after it with a single-minded dedication and righteous fury that scared Cas more than a little.

Cas concentrated on running the camp, having to use one of his crutches to hobble around again while his leg recovered. He gave Dean all the space and time he could possibly need each day to do whatever it was that Dean felt he had to do, whilst still being there for him each night. And at night, always in total darkness, Dean would break down in the only way he could let himself; shamelessly needing Cas, holding Cas for hours, cuddling him, kissing him, having as much sex as they physically could – it was actually kind of suffocating.

And then, in the cold light of morning, Dean would be detached and businesslike, treating Cas almost like a stranger; just another soldier under his command. The dissonance made Cas feel as if he dreamed the other half of their relationship, as if there was no real proof it existed at all.

But then darkness would fall and it was as if a switch flipped, and Dean was back. Cas always felt somehow guilty about having sex with Dean when he was like this, and somehow guiltier if he enjoyed it, as if he were taking advantage. Especially on the nights when Dean would beg to have Cas inside him, would lie back and make himself completely vulnerable.

Their  _fearless leader_  was, secretly, this fragile broken thing in Cas's arms, and the crushing responsibility fell entirely on Cas to pick up the pieces and attempt to put him back together. Cas had raised Dean from perdition, but this was so much more difficult than that. This made Cas feel conflicted, to say the least. But Dean refused to talk to Cas about Bobby – in fact he refused to talk about much of anything and barely spoke to anyone other than Cas, so there was little else that could be done to comfort him.

Over a week had passed like this. It was unsustainable, Cas knew, and he wondered whether Dean was very slowly going to get better, or whether he was just going to snap at some point.

It seemed to be the former. Dean became more and more active in the camp again. His face was grimmer and less expressive than it had been when Bobby was alive, and he blanketed himself in the macho persona he habitually continued to wear to protect himself. To everyone else, he seemed to be basically fine, and he was getting shit done. That was all that mattered to anyone else, and Cas suspected, that was all that mattered to Dean.

It was only when Dean was with Cas that he could relax, that he could open himself up at least a little. He would still cling to Cas as they slept, but he got less demanding, less intense. He seemed to need to just know that Cas was there.

All the time that this was going on, Cas could not silence the nagging doubts in his mind. He felt sure that this was not Dean getting better, this was just Dean slowly dying inside, emotions slowly dwindling away to nothing the way that Cas's grace had done. After all, Cas had watched Dean's slow descent after Detroit – which was less of a sudden change perhaps because Dean never  _saw_  Sam die, never came into close personal contact with it, never truly dealt with it at all. He didn't have Sam's body, they never held Sam's funeral, and technically speaking, Sam wasn't even dead, as far as they knew. But with Bobby, of course, everything had been very immediate and inescapably real – the fight, the blood, the fire.

Before long, Dean went off on a mission to try and discover whether Crowley was truly alive and whether he truly had the colt. Cas had volunteered to go, but Dean had overruled him and gone with Risa. The upshot of that mission was that no other demon that Dean could find knew anything of Crowley, his whereabouts, or the location of the colt. They all seemed to be sure that Crowley was dead. It didn't help that virtually none of the demons ever knew anything about the colt anyway – as it was a weapon that could kill demons it was kept strictly in the hands of a select few.

A few days later, they were due to go on a supply run – Dean led that and told Cas to stay behind to be in charge while he was gone. Cas realised that, after what had happened at Bobby's house, Dean wouldn't let him leave the camp because he probably didn't have any faith in Cas's abilities to do anything useful. The worst thing would be if Cas got anyone else killed.

So Cas didn't bring the matter up. If Dean wanted him to stay in the camp, he would, as long as he could drink and get stoned in peace in their cabin while Dean was gone, though he was out of it plenty even while Dean was there. The most significant thing that Cas did was to cast the spell of protection over the camp with the artefacts recovered from Bobby's house, along with other items, as this should offer protection from the Staff of Moses or any other Heavenly weapons Lucifer got hold of.

Shortly after that, the March full moon approached and Dean decided that he would go and look for Tammy again, seeing as she seemed to be the only lead they had. Of course, it was decided that Cas wasn't going. Cas hated himself looking forward to Dean being gone, but he sort of did. He could do with a few days off from having to face the man he let down, the man he failed.

Things had become awkward between them, Cas's nagging sense that he didn't deserve to be here at all eating away at him. He realised with a start, one day, that this must be what being Dean Winchester feels like  _all the time_  – and had to chase that thought with much of the contents of a bottle of gin.

Cas couldn't understand how Dean still slept with him and apparently still wanted him. It didn't make any sense to Cas. Why didn't Dean hate him for leaving Bobby alone, for not being able to save him? Or maybe Dean did hate him, and was just using him. Cas didn't think that likely but he didn't know, couldn't get his head around the human emotions involved in all of this.

Things came to a head one night when Dean had Cas on top of him and inside him, fingers tangled in Cas's hair, gasping Cas's name as if Cas were worthy of being exalted. This was always a gesture of a great amount of trust on Dean's part, and Cas couldn't understand how Dean could still trust him. Cas was pre-occupied; feeling guilty for Bobby's death, feeling guilty for even being there. While he physically could still hit the spot and make Dean feel good, he did it all with an air of detachment, as if this were a rehearsed performance of a duty. He couldn't quite bring himself to meet Dean's eyes, and barely made a sound. Dean, of course, could tell that Cas wasn't really into it and got him to stop. This, naturally, made for an incredibly awkward exchange with Dean lying facing away from him, telling Cas to just forget it and go to sleep.

A few days had passed since then, and they became like strangers to each other, Dean keeping himself busy with the camp and Cas losing himself in drugs as much as possible.

The gulf between them widened exponentially as the silence between them built every awkward or negative interaction they did have into something much bigger and more significant than it truly deserved to be; in the absence of enjoying any of the time they spent together it seemed as if resentment and frustration was all there was, all there ever was, and neither of them could understand how that had happened.

Why exactly they couldn't just  _ask_  each other what was wrong, Cas wasn't sure. All he knew was that he never seemed to get round to doing it, always meaning to and then convincing himself that there was always something more important to do, or some reason not to, such as being tired, or not wanting to upset Dean before he had to do something important the next day. There was always an excuse to avoid the issue.

The March full moon arrived, and Dean left on his mission to look for Tammy. It seemed like they had been looking or Tammy so long she had taken on an air of unreality – and it genuinely did not quite occur to Cas that Dean might  _actually_  find her and capture her – but that's exactly what he did.

Risa brought Cas the news, and told him that Dean had taken Tammy out to someplace she only vaguely knew about, some prison, somewhere she could be locked away safe from doing any more harm. Cas knew all about that place. The prison. The place he and Dean set up specifically to torture demons, and of course, Dean was doing it himself. He couldn't let Cas take that weight, he felt he had to take it himself.

Cas was angry, to a large extent, though his anger didn't matter as much as what Dean was doing to himself. Cas got a few supplies together, and within an hour he had left the camp, driving out into the dark and brusquely dismissing anyone who tried to advise him that it was a bad idea or telling him to take someone with him. He drove the short distance over to the prison, a journey of only a few miles, and reported his safe arrival via the satellite phone they kept in that vehicle – mainly just so that no one else would call him and bother him.

As soon as Cas turned off the engine he heard a scream, and his chest constricted as he realised that this was Tammy – or rather, the demon who possessed her. It was a grim journey then, following the sound along the ground floor corridor until he was standing outside the door. He knocked.

Silence fell within the room – Dean certainly wouldn't have been expecting guests.

"It's me," Cas called to him. "Cas."

The door opened a crack and Dean pointed the barrel of a shotgun at his chest. Cas rolled his eyes and backed away, submitting to the usual tests to establish that he was not a demon or a shifter.

Then, Dean grabbed him by his elbow and dragged him to the end of the corridor and around the corner. "What the hell are you doing here?" He growled, though he didn't wait for an answer. "Did you come by yourself?"

"Yes."

"Dammit, there's a reason we have a rule about not being out alone! How am I supposed to know you're not a croat, huh?"

Cas rolled his eyes. "I only left the camp twenty minutes ago; you can call and check. Even if I'd been attacked in that time I wouldn't have symptoms by now, so I would just tell you–"

"How do you think this looks?" Dean persisted. "To everyone else? That we set these rules and don't follow them ourselves? The second you get back to camp you go straight to quarantine, do not pass go, do not justify your bullshit to anyone–"

" _You're_  out here alone!" Cas shouted, finally losing his patience.

Dean was silent for a moment. "That's different–"

"Different how?"

"Because I'm doing something no one else can do," Dean insisted. "Something no one else should be involved in – remember, Cas, we agreed on that."

"We didn't agree that you would exclude me," Cas corrected him. "You should have come and got me."

"I didn't want to bring the demon close to the camp."

"Then you should have taken me on the mission with you."

"I left you in charge."

"This is pointless!" Cas shouted at him, sick of this petty argument that didn't seem to be going anywhere, and he wrenched his arm out of Dean's grasp. "Why won't you let me help you?"

"I can do this, Cas." Dean insisted, and Cas felt his chest tighten on hearing it, and on seeing Dean's face. His ability to torture was one of the few things that Dean was sure about. He was good at it; he was confident in his ability. There was a part of him that was even perversely  _proud_.

* * *

Cas had done as he said he would and returned to camp, submitting to quarantine, being tested for Croatoan.

It was the small hours of the morning by the time Cas got out, and went back to the cabin. Dean was not there, of course.

Cas thought seriously about going back out to the prison, but it seemed like a pointless thing to do. Before Cas had left they had had a long and drawn out conversation which went around in circles for a while, but concluded that Dean was doing the torturing on his own and that was that. Cas had even made his way into Tammy's cell temporarily to at least see this illusive demon inhabiting Tammy – who looked strikingly and disturbingly similar to Jane – to speak to her himself. Dean just glared at him from the door while the demon mocked them for giving her a break while they had their "lovers' spat" – and that put an end to that. Cas knew there was no point in arguing with Dean further, and left.

The next day Cas awaited Dean's return in their cabin and knocked back a cocktail of drugs and choked down a few gulps of absinthe, because this was just what he did when reality got too much for him. He felt like a coward for doing it, but sooner or later the drugs would kick in and he would stop feeling like a coward – would stop feeling anything. His leg still hurt somewhat from where he had been shot, so he had painkillers again. Wonderful, glorious painkillers.

Cas sank back into himself, his mind refusing to process the reality of what was going on around him: it faded until it seemed like all of Cas's vision was his peripheral vision – he could see it but couldn't focus on it and didn't care to focus on it either.

Azaria came round to talk to him - which was code for  _get stoned with him_  - as she was apparently the only thing close to a friend that he really had. Whether she planned to sleep with him, Cas had no idea, but he found himself hoping that she didn't. Cas didn't truly want anyone else, but at the same time, he didn't feel confident in his ability to spurn her advances if she did come onto him.

Somehow or another, in the afternoon, Azaria ended up laying on her stomach on the bed, legs bent waving her bare feet back and forth while she smoked a some marijuana. Dean would be pissed when he got home; about the smell.

Cas sat on the floor, leaning back on his arms as he spoke to her. Cas wasn't sure what he was doing on the floor when there was a couch by the window and stool by the fire, but he didn't seem to care, either. At least, not until he pushed himself to sit up straight, at which point he realised he had sat in that position too long and it had made his arms ache, and his back –  _oh shit_ , his back hurt like hell. He must have winced in pain, because Azaria noticed and asked him what was wrong. It was a moment before he admitted that his back hurt, but she still got him to come and sit before the foot of the bed so she could massage his back for him.

It didn't occur to Cas to take his shirt off until Azaria had already started to work out the knots in his muscles through it, but Cas didn't want to take it off, anyway. He already felt guilty about this: this was his and Dean's thing, and having Azaria do it seemed almost as disloyal as actually sleeping with her. Cas realised suddenly that he hadn't slept with Azaria for several months now. He had somehow found himself out of the habit, and didn't really want to be back in the habit either. He wanted to fix things with Dean.

"Stop," he said, more sharply that he meant to.

Azaria did so, climbed off the bed and sat down next to him. "Castiel... are you okay?"

"I'm– No."

She was quiet for a moment, taking one last drag of the joint before reaching back to the ashtray on the bed and stubbing it out. "Where is Dean, anyway?"

"Out."

"People talk, you know." Azaria sighed. "I think you were supposed to come up with a lie for him, Cas."

"Dean can come up with his own lies," Cas grumbled. "I'm not a good liar." Only then did Cas fully take on board what Azaria had said:  _people talk_. "What do they say?"

"What?" Azaria frowned.

"The people," Cas clarified. "You said they talk."

"Oh..." she looked away nervously. "You know, apocalypse is stressful, Cas. When people get angry and scared they say a lot of stuff. About Dean and... you."

"What about us?"

"Well Dean is out doing God knows what, and here  _we_  are," she hesitated, "getting high in the middle of the day. I mean, I'm supposed to be a nurse, so this is bad for me, but you know, you're supposed to be  _in charge_." She chuckled slightly. "Neither of us are doing very well here, I'm afraid."

Cas smiled sadly and clenched his hands together, looking away. Azaria moved and knelt up at Cas's side, moving to put her arms around his shoulders.

"No, I don't want..." but Cas trailed off as her body met his. She was warm and smelt lightly of soap and strawberries and this was a  _comfort_  that Cas couldn't turn down.  _It's just a hug_ , Cas told himself.  _Friends hug_. However, it went on rather too long to be a hug, straying into  _cuddle_  territory, and after a moment Azaria kissed him on the cheek. She didn't attempt to go any further, though, to Cas's relief.

She curled up against Cas's side and rested her head on his shoulder, and Cas was happy to let her stay there for a few minutes. "You don't make it easy for people," she said softly.

"What do you mean?" Cas couldn't see her face like this which made her words harder to interpret.

"You're very easy to love, but loving you is very hard. Do you understand what I mean?"

Cas narrowed his eyes. "No."

Azaria sat up and regarded him through narrowed grey eyes, head tilted slightly to one side. "You always mean well. You're one of the best-intentioned people I've ever known. But to do good it's not enough to  _intend_. You've got to see things from other people's points of view. See things from Dean's point of view."

"What things?"

" _All_  things," she replied wearily.

"I am getting better, you know, at that." Cas replied, which made her laugh.

"Gosh, what were you like before...?" When Cas scowled she swore she was just kidding and apologised. "I'm sorry, Cas. I'm just trying to look out for you."

Cas narrowed his eyes and stared straight ahead, letting his head fall back against the end of the bed.  _I'm just trying to look out for you_  – Azaria seemed to say that all the time. Why?

Cas wasn't really sober enough to think about it. He persuaded her to go some time later, and spent the night on his own in a fitful half-sleep during which he was conscious of his surroundings, but still zoned out. He didn't dream, as such, though he imagined things, combined memories together in new and bizarre ways. Though perhaps that  _was_  dreaming, Cas wasn't really sure. It was probably just the absinthe. It had been so long since he had last had a dream, at least one that he could remember, that he wasn't confident that he could recognise a dream again if he did have one.

* * *

Dean carried on with his torture through the night and the following day. Dean always believed that he could do the torturing for longer than any demon could stand to be tortured, if he simply never let up, never gave respite, the demons would break. And the worst thing was, he was right.

It was the early evening before Dean came back into the camp. Cas was sat on the front porch of their cabin, drinking from a bottle of gin, which was horrible, when he saw Dean walking up. "Get Risa and Yaeger," Dean barked, scarcely looking at Cas and not slowing down as he passed, "my cabin."

For a moment, Cas just watched Dean walk off, further into the camp, his usual bow-legged strut apparently so full of confidence. Anyone else who saw him knew immediately that this was a man not to be messed with, a man with somewhere important to be going, and to not be interrupted. He would be going, of course, to have blood taken to be tested for Croatoan. Really, he should be in quarantine, but he was making an exception for himself, as he often did.

_My cabin_ , Cas repeated Dean's words in his mind as he did as Dean had asked. Since when was the meeting cabin  _Dean's_  cabin again? He didn't live there.

Cas put down his bottle and left, getting Risa and Yaeger together and shepherding them into the cabin while they waited for Dean. Cas invited Risa to sit at the table while he loitered restlessly at the side of the room.

After several minutes Dean appeared, shutting the door behind him and not wasting any time on formalities. "So the demon in Tammy told me how they move the colt around," he explained, talking into the room in general rather than to any individual, and he didn't even look at Cas as he spoke. He was excited, but it was an agitated, exhausted sort of excitement, and there was something desperate about it, as if Dean was a man dying of thirst  _excited_  by the sight of an oasis on the horizon.

He took out a pad of paper and pencil, jotting down a few notes and lists of information, talking as he did so about the system that the demons practised to keep the colt hidden, the detail rushing out of him. He went to sit down in the other chair but somehow never got round to doing so, too busy writing down information and standing between the chair and the table.

When he was done, Risa just muttered, "Wow," but Yaeger enquired, "She know anything else?"

"No." Dean shot Yaeger a look as if to say,  _Isn't that enough?_  "She's dead now, and so is Tammy, of course. I just went to tell Jane."

"I could have done that," Cas said, quietly, imagining how hard it must have been for Dean to look into the eyes of the sister of the woman he just tortured to death and then tell her about it. But Dean would feel that that was his responsibility.

"Well I told you to do this," Dean snapped, in response, still not looking at him.

They were interrupted then, by two men and a woman pushing open the door and striding in. Dean turned to stare them down, which stopped two of them dead in their tracks, but not the man at the centre, Matt. "I need to talk to you," he barked.

"I'm busy," Dean shot back.

"I don't care," Matt retorted. "See, me and my friends here, we've got a few concerns," he gestured to the other two members of the camp, "and it isn't just us, either. We think it's about time we spoke to you. People have been talking," Matt sneered. "We're concerned about you, your judgement. How much of a  _fearless leader_  you really are."

Cas felt a flash of anger and could have hit Matt at that moment; Dean was in no state to be dealing with this sort of bullshit.

"If this is about Crowley, I told you, it's pointless," Dean replied with a steely calm. "Crowley is a liar and a slimy son of a bitch who's only out to dick us over."

"It's not about Crowley," Matt retorted. "You say he's bad news, okay, we believe you. The guy is a  _demon_  - this isn't about that." Matt took a breath and stared at Dean hard, finally going on, "We all know that there are certain things you're not prepared to do–"

"I just spent the past two days interrogating a demon," Dean snapped, as Cas's gaze flicked nervously between the two of them. Dean was strung out almost to the point of not being able to function, and he should  _not_  be getting into an argument... "So don't you tell me what I will and won't do, Matt. I caught that black-eyed bitch, worked her over, all to get information for you – for all of us. And why did I do all of that? So I can kill Satan himself! So do not tell me that there are things I wouldn't do!"

Without missing a beat, Matt shouted back, "You wouldn't send him to die!" He pointed an accusatory finger at Cas. "I'm not talking about Crowley or any of that stuff you just said. This is about Cas. You can't make decisions when it comes to him. You can't do whatever it takes, don't say that you can, because we all know that you can't. You can't send Cas off to his death. The rest of us, sure, if it was necessary, but not  _him_."

Dean didn't answer. He was utterly thrown off balance by that, and stared hard at Matt across the table with a look that made Cas half afraid Dean would just take out his gun and shoot the guy, just like that. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife as Cas came over and stood next to Dean. "Dean..."

Dean shot Cas a vicious sidelong glance and growled, "Get out." Cas stared back at him, completely unfazed until Dean turned and shouted "Get out!" With a ferocity that made the other people in the room flinch. Cas didn't even blink, knowing that Dean wasn't really angry at him at all but at the situation at the attack on himself, so Cas stayed precisely where he was and stared back at Dean until he had no choice but to meet Cas's eyes. Dean tried to say something to reassure the people around him, but he couldn't. Cas could see the look behind Dean's eyes, could practically see him falling apart – because the fact was, it was only Cas that held Dean together.

Cas spoke up, addressing Matt, "I will do whatever it takes to get the colt and to kill Lucifer. I would die for it."

Dean turned to the other assembled members of the camp, staring directly at Matt, evidently pulling himself together. "Exactly. I don't want to hear this sort of shit again – not ever. You ever say that again, you're out - out of this camp, nothing to do with us. I've got nothing else to say to you. We're done here."

Cas moved to take a step toward the door, and, abruptly, Dean grabbed the front of Cas's jacket and made for the door himself, as if he were the one dragging Cas outside. Dean couldn't afford to show this  _weakness_ , this vulnerability in front of the others – could never afford a single moment of weakness.

Marching Cas back to their cabin, Dean attracted a few looks from the people they passed, but didn't care. Cas didn't care either. When they reached the cabin Dean shoved him inside and slammed the door behind them.

Then, and only then, did the levee break. Dean clenched his jaw as if about to cry, but Cas didn't see anything else because he was pulled into a bone-crushing hug, Dean's powerful arms around his shoulders. Cas wrapped his arms tightly around Dean, rubbed his back and nuzzled against his neck, holding Dean for however long he needed to be held.

Most of the time, Dean wasn't this fragile purely because he was already broken, and too closed off from everything to possibly be hurt by it. But the events of the past few days – the hours and hours of torture, having to tell Jane that her sister was dead – all while Dean could count on his fingers the hours of sleep he'd had this entire week? It was all too much. "Dean–"

"Cas please," Dean choked, "please don't."

"No one could keep it together in these circumstances, Dean." Dean tensed as if to try and push Cas away, but Cas brought one hand up to stroke his hair and the tension left Dean's body again as he slumped against Cas.

It was a few minutes before they disentangled themselves, Dean not meeting Cas's eyes and staring absently at the floor.

Cas held him by the shoulders. "You need to sleep."

Dean gave him a strained smile. "You're probably right."

Cas smiled weakly and looked at the floor. "Come on, bed."

"Maybe just for an hour... but Matt might come to talk to me, or Chuck, about the next supply run..." Dean said thoughtfully.

"If they do," Cas squeezed his shoulder. "I'll tell them to go fuck themselves." Dean broke into a smile and even a small laugh. Cas looked at him fondly and urged him, "Sleep. I'll watch over you."

* * *

The only person Cas deigned to see was Azaria, who came round and confirmed that Dean didn't have Croatoan and tried to talk more, though Cas shut the door on her abruptly and exceptionally rudely, though he did apologise while he did it.

A few minutes after that Dean fell asleep – or more accurately, collapsed in exhaustion.

Cas decided to put out the candles to save them, and, by keeping the cabin in pitch darkness, deter anyone else from disturbing them. Cas joined Dean on the bed lay on his right side facing Dean, and his eyes soon adjusted to the dark. He could see the faint, grey light filtering in from outside brushing over Dean's cheek and skirting over his shoulder, the rest of his body only dimly visible as a shadow in the darkness, rising and falling slowly with his breathing.

Closing his eyes for a little while, Cas just listened to the soft sounds of Dean's breathing, the muffled sounds from outside of distant voices and people walking by. He felt certain that he stayed awake as the night wore on, and was not aware of time passing.

Cas only slowly became aware of Dean's fingers playing with the hair that curled up a little behind his ear, before Dean let his hand trail down the side of Cas's neck, to his clavicle, following along the hem of Cas's shirt down a little to the centre of his chest, and then back up his neck again on the other side. Cas kept his eyes closed but was awake by the time Dean's fingers swept under his chin and came to rest lightly on his cheek, cupping his face. Cas groggily opened his eyes, though all was still pitch darkness, and he could barely see anything.

"So much for watching over me," Dean said it as an accusation, though really it was amusement in his voice.

"I was just resting my eyes," Cas replied thickly.

"Cas, you were snoring."

"I don't snore."

Dean laughed a little and Cas sensed him move closer, his lips pressed lightly to Cas's cheek. Cas lazily pressed his hand on Dean's chest, feeling the firm muscle through his t-shirt, the familiar curves of Dean's body. "What time is it?" Cas asked.

"Sometime after three," Dean replied, and Cas's eyes snapped open. Damn, he really had been asleep – for several hours. And even at this time of year, it would be at least another couple of hours before it got light.

"I... I don't usually sleep that much," Cas said haltingly, though he really meant that he didn't usually sleep that  _well_.

"I know," Dean replied solemnly.

Cas moved closer and wrapped his arm around Dean's back – and as he did so he seemed to have some kind of epiphany, as one sometimes does on the edge of sleep. Cas had been giving himself to Dean, being there to  _let_  Dean have sex with him and cuddle him and do whatever else he wanted, because Cas had believed that that was the surest way to keep Dean happy.

But it wouldn't be, Cas realised. It was always Dean that initiated things between them, and a lack of any objection from Cas was certainly not the same as enthusiasm for the idea. By this point that probably made Dean feel as if he was being selfish, as if he was annoying Cas by taking affection and sex from him when Cas might have been giving the impression that he would rather Dean didn't – especially that last time, when Cas was so manifestly not enjoying it himself. Letting Dean take love from him was a different matter entirely from giving Dean his love voluntarily, Cas saw that now.

Cas brought his hand up to cup the side of Dean's face, and Dean's eyes fell closed as he leaned in to the touch, sighing in relief as if he had been starving for a touch like that, and Cas suddenly realised that he hadn't truly been giving Dean what he needed at all.

"Dean," Cas whispered before thinking, "Please..."

"Please what?"

_Please... be happy. Please let me save you. Anything_.

Cas just kissed him again and slid his hand down to Dean's neck, his fingers lightly brushing up and down the nape, where Dean was sensitive. Dean smiled into the kiss but broke it, turning around to settle himself back against Cas's body.

In the early days Dean had objected to being the "little spoon" but in truth he loved it and he knew it, and Cas always knew it too. Cas found a way to comfortably coil his body around Dean's, and Dean reached back to grab hold of his hip so that Cas was pressed against his ass. It was playful and relaxed, and they both allowed themselves breathy laughs and got comfortable.

Neither of them were in any hurry, as for once they had plenty of time, after all. Dean took hold of Cas's left hand and investigated it delicately with his fingertips, drawing patterns over Cas's palm which brought goosebumps up all along his arm and made him smile. After a moment Cas realised that Dean was tracing letters onto his skin; C, A, S. Cas smiled at the realisation that Dean was spelling out his name, and found himself slightly surprised that Dean continued, adding the T, I, E and L to spell out his full name, the name he associated with Heaven.

"You know," Dean murmured, "I never really even had a thing for hands before you."

Cas nuzzled his face against the back of Dean's neck. "But you do now?"

"Yeah," Dean chuckled. "You have really nice hands. God, that's the lamest compliment..."

"No it isn't," Cas assured him. "Thank you."

Dean was quiet for a moment and Cas could sense him becoming more serious in his demeanour. "Cas I've... I've never had anyone I can talk to the way I can talk to you. There's never been anyone I could just  _be_  with, until you." Dean took a deep breath. "He's right."

"Who?"

"Matt," Dean said softly. "He's right. I couldn't lose you."

"I..." Cas held Dean's hand tightly. "I couldn't lose you either."

For a long time after that they lay in silence, almost falling asleep again together, perhaps dozing for a time but never losing awareness of the warmth of the body next to them, the sense of belonging. Cas slid his hand down Dean's chest and kissed the back of his neck, which made Dean lazily roll over onto his back, slotting his arm around Cas's waist as if it belonged there, tracing over the bumps of Cas's spine delicately with his fingertips, planting his hand firmly on Cas's side and holding him tight as they kissed.

"Dean," Cas said slowly, quietly, unsure of himself. But these conversations were easier in the dark. "We will get through this, you and I. We'll find the colt, we'll stop Lucifer, we'll survive. Together."

Dean smiled and rubbed his thumb back and forth over Cas's skin, over the bumps of his ribs. "I want to believe you, but you know I never was one for faith."

"Can you have faith in me?" Cas asked, moving subtly closer and giving Dean a light kiss on the lips. "Have faith in me, to get you there? To get you to the end?"

Dean pulled Cas in for a kiss, pulling away and nodding almost imperceptibly by way of a reply. He turned onto his side again, to face away from Cas. Cas wrapped himself back around him, letting his hand explore Dean's body, devoting his attention entirely to Dean. Dean took a deep breath and shifted to pull off his shirt, Cas following suit so that the bare, warm skin of Dean's back could be pressed against his chest.

The sun was coming up by the time they finished, still in the same position. Cas took his time, so Dean was completely relaxed and ready when Cas eased himself inside him, giving Dean the kind of slow, lazy fuck best enjoyed first thing in the morning, as Cas rolled his hips steadily, taking Dean apart slowly but surely until he came with a breathless sigh of Cas's name.

Cas continued to hold him afterwards, as the sun rose, breaching the windows and spreading itself out over the inside of the cabin, insistent that it should not be ignored, that the two of them should get up, because it was yet another new day for the same old apocalypse, and they had to carry on.


	8. Dreams

For about a week after Dean had tortured Tammy and got information out of her, a tenuous sort of peace seemed to exist between himself and Cas. He was noticeably changed by Bobby's death, a change which Cas was sure was permanent. It was subtle and hard to define, exactly. Dean did everything with more purpose and less despondency than before, but at the same time he was more detached and distant – increasingly keeping things to himself and taking decisions entirely on his own, apparently believing that the best way to assert his strength as a leader. Cas was concerned by all this and recommended that Dean read  _The Art of War_  by Sun Tzu, but Dean dismissed Cas's suggestion by saying that he didn't have the time.

Dean went out on one mission based off Tammy's information, and heard more rumours about what the other demons may be planning. He then, naturally, killed those demons so that they couldn't report back to Lucifer or any of their other superiors that Dean knew anything. So far, it seemed that everything Tammy had said to him had been true.

Dean did, at least, continue to talk to Cas about all that he was doing. He announced quite proudly that he  _knew_  when the colt would next be back on American soil: August.

Cas took this news with a pinch of salt, and stayed quite quiet while Dean celebrated with a beer, sitting next to him on the couch. "Hey," Dean nudged him with his elbow – the casual gesture and tone belying the genuine concern Dean had about Cas not seeming pleased about this. "It's  _the colt_ , Cas. You know, the gun we've been going after for five years? And we know where it's gonna be. Didn't you hear me when I said that?"

"I heard you," Cas said quietly, taking a sip of beer.

"And?" Dean demanded. "Why the long face?"

Cas turned to him and narrowed his eyes, not understanding the description of his face as 'long' - but Dean just shook his head and raised a hand dismissively.

Cas was careful how he spoke. "Tammy claimed that Lucifer's demons have the colt..."

Dean frowned. "They do. Like I said, she told me how they move it around, where they're planning on taking it next. It's in Europe right now. Italy, if you want specifics. When it comes back to America, in  _August_ , that's when we'll get it back."

Cas nodded. "But the demon Bela claimed that she and Crowley have the colt."

"She was lying."

"Or..." Cas said patiently, "Tammy was lying."

"No," Dean snapped. "She wasn't lying."

Cas looked away at hearing Dean allude to his torture.  _Maybe they're both lying_ , he thought to himself, but elected not to say.  _Perhaps they destroyed the colt, or perhaps someone else entirely has it. Perhaps this whole thing is hopeless_.

"Lucifer's demons have it," Dean said, getting up, and everything about his tone and demeanour indicated that this was a matter closed for discussion. "These other demons we captured, they weren't lying. If you'd been there, you'd know."

But Cas wasn't there. Cas hadn't gone on that mission either. He hadn't even asked, this time.

In the days that followed, and after what the people in the camp heard of Matt's confrontation with Dean regarding Cas, people in the camp had started to look at Cas differently, and Cas could tell that they were wondering what exactly it was that Cas  _did_  now. What use was he? Cas didn't feel particularly useful. He did participate daily in patrols of the camp's borders to guard it, but apart from that he stayed in his cabin a lot.

He meditated in the hope that it would help him to find some peace; but the help it provided only seemed to be minimal and temporary. He wondered whether perhaps he should start telling people he was ill just so he had an excuse for staying in the camp all the time. But that wouldn't work. People who were ill didn't spend their days drinking copious quantities of absinthe or going for long and rambling walks around the camp for no reason.

The threat of Lucifer coming for them hung over them all, but that threat somehow did not seem to materialise. The global apocalypse was not all about America, of course, and for the time being Lucifer was devoting his attention to other places, and there was no sign of him rushing back. The camp was protected, regardless.

Dean had gone with Jane on a short supply run to the nearby farm, which was somehow still running without the stubborn hicks who lived there catching Croatoan or getting killed by demons. When he arrived back he found Cas more sober than he usually was, sat on the couch by the door reading a book.

Dean dropped his duffel down on the shelves behind Cas and set to unpacking his things (guns, mostly). He came to stand beside Cas, looking him over, knocking back the glass of water that Cas had left out, ready for him. Dean gestured towards Cas's feet. "What the hell are you wearing?"

Cas glanced down over the top of his book. "Sandals."

Dean chuckled. "Hippie."

Cas rolled his eyes. While Dean finished unpacking his duffel, Cas attempted to make some conversation. "I'm reading your book."

"What book?"

"The Tom Clancy Book," Cas replied, showing the cover to Dean as if to prove it.

"Oh." Dean glanced at him impassively and carried on with what he was doing. "I gotta go do something," he said vaguely on his way to the door.

"What are you doing?"

"Dammit," Dean replied wearily, pulling open the door without looking back, "can't I do stuff without you or your say-so?"

Cas didn't get a chance to answer before Dean left. Cas stared at the page of the book blankly for a couple of minutes, reading the same line about ten times, before he finally set it down and decided to put on some music instead, and re-open his almost-empty bottle of absinthe.

Dean didn't return for around half an hour, and while he was gone Cas lay on the bed listening to music and fiddling with his red cord of Buddhist prayer beads. He ran them through his fingers, counting them – there were 108 – winding them round one wrist, unwinding them, winding them round the other, counting them again. He wasn't meditating by any means; he wasn't really doing anything at all. He thought about Dean, and the colt, and Lucifer, and Sam, but all his thoughts seemed to go round in circles until they lost all meaning. He tried to think about Bobby but his mind shied away from that, coming up against a wall of guilt, Cas's guilt about not being able to save Bobby, not being able to heal him, how useless the entire incident made him feel. Cas wondered whether Dean felt like this when he tried to think about Sam - but that was different, of course, as what had happened to Sam wasn't Dean's fault even though Dean felt like it was.

When Dean returned he shrugged off his jacket and took of his boots with little sounds of relief. Cas continued lying on the bed, fiddling with the prayer beads, listening to the music. Dean stopped by the end of the bed and listened too. "Are you listening to Fleetwood Mac?"

"Yes," Cas answered.

"Huh," Dean smiled and climbed onto the bed next to him. "I didn't know you liked Fleetwood Mac."

"Well I do," Cas replied, sharply.

Dean sighed and fell onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. More than anything else, all their interactions these days just seemed  _awkward_ , even forced. Cas didn't want to behave like this toward Dean when Dean was currently being perfectly civil to him – but a mere half hour ago, Dean had been kind of dismissive – so Cas reassured himself that he had a right to still be pissed about that.

Cas laughed, suddenly, and Dean looked at him quizzically. Cas turned his head to look at Dean better. "Human relationships," Cas said, simply. "I'm no good at them, I know. In my defence, my intended purpose in creation was to disinterestedly observe humanity and occasionally fight some demons. Not this."

"Yeah..." Dean let a couple minutes pass where the only sound in the room was the steady beat of  _I Don't Want To Know_  playing on the stereo. After that he got up wearily and, without a word, went into the other room for a few moments. Cas could hear him, as if he was off at some great distance, tidying a few things away, heading off to the cabin's makeshift bathroom, coming back. The CD had finished playing by the time Dean returned and started picking up and looking at Cas's bottles of pills.

"Does it help, Cas?"

"What?" Cas blinked and looked over at him.

"The drugs," Dean snapped. "Do they make you feel any better?"

"Better?" Cas repeated thoughtfully. "No, not better. Just different."

"I'll take that," Dean picked up a bottle of pills and opened it. "Is this Ecstasy?"

"Yeah."

"How many of these do you take?"

"I, uh... You should just take one." Cas got up and went over to Dean with the idea of stopping him, but Dean had already thrown one of the pills to the back of his mouth and swallowed it. Dean took drugs frequently, but generally only drugs that he felt he needed in order to  _do_  things: amphetamines to stay awake, alcohol and other downers to knock him out so he could throw himself down into deep, unhealthy facsimiles of sleep – sleep without dreams, so that he would be free of his nightmares.

"I got stuff to do tomorrow," Dean said, as if just realising this. "Am I gonna be okay?"

"You should be fine," Cas said, tentatively, picking up a different bottle. "Take one of these in the morning, and the ill effects should be lessened..."

"Okay, Dr Feelgood," Dean said wryly, examining the bottle and raising his eyebrows. "How do you know all this stuff?"

"I know a lot of stuff," Cas replied, wearily, opening the first bottle to join Dean in this experience, though he wasn't sure that he felt like it. "More than you can imagine. Millions of years old, and all that..."

"Hmm..." Dean went to get himself a beer, though Cas advised him to drink water instead, advice he reluctantly took.

They sat down on the couch together, and Cas put his arm around Dean's shoulders, intending to do something, though not sure what. Dean looked back at him with a blank sort of expression. "How long does this shit take to work? It's been a hell of a long time since I took one of these..."

"Thirty to forty-five minutes," Cas replied. "Generally."

Dean nodded, staring straight ahead, clearly not knowing what to do with half an hour of time alone with Cas, not knowing what to talk about. Cas wanted to break the silence but he couldn't think of a single damn thing to say.

He asked Dean about camp business, and Dean answered his questions with one word answers. He didn't want to talk about this. There were a million more important things for the two of them to talk about, Cas was sure, but he couldn't seem to get a handle on what they were. Eventually, one thing did occur to him. "I never asked... you and that demon, before she was a demon, Bela Talbot... I know you explained to me who she was but, it she really seemed like she, uh, knew you..."

Dean smiled and shook his head. "We never had anything going on, Cas. Even if we had, she's been in Hell," he paused. "It's somewhere around 6 years, up here, which would be... uh... 720 down there."

Cas nodded, but narrowed his eyes. He'd been meaning to speak to Dean about that, but what with one thing and another hadn't got round to it. "It usually takes longer than that. To make a human soul a full demon, I mean. Of course, it varies a great deal, and if a concerted effort was made to convert her, I suppose it's within the realms of possibility..."

Dean didn't reply. He was very quiet; the particular kind of quietness that made it clear that he was troubled. Cas realised that Dean was surely wondering how long it would have taken  _him_  to become a demon. Dean and Bela went to Hell at around the same time, and a  _concerted effort_  was made to convert him. Cas wished that there was something he could say to reassure Dean, but he had no idea where to start. He didn't think that there was anything he could say to make Dean feel any better. Whatever figure for the number of years in Hell it would take, Cas knew that at some point Dean would sit and work out how long that was in Earthly time, and however long it was, he would be disappointed, he would feel as if it wasn't good enough.

"You know," Dean slipped his arm around Cas's waist and pulled him closer. "I think I'm starting to feel something."

"Do you feel less stressed?"

Dean laughed. " _Stressed?_  That's the word you'd use for how I normally am? Stressed..."

"Doesn't begin to cover it, I know," Cas interrupted, which quickly rendered Dean silent.

Cas suddenly got up, taking Dean's hand and leading him over to the bed. Dean ended up overtaking him and pulling Cas down on top of him, and they collapsed in an ungainly tangle of limbs, Cas holding onto Dean for stability, Dean's arms wrapping round his back to hold him close. Dean slid his hands up and down Cas's back slowly. He pressed his face to Cas's hair, and mumbled, "I really just want to hug you a lot right now. Is that normal?"

Cas chuckled. "Yes."

"Hmm..." Dean brought one hand up to Cas's hair and ran his fingers through it. "Tell me more about your hippie love-guru crap..."

"It's not crap," Cas replied, wounded. "There are books about it."

"There are  _books_  about a teenage girl ruining her life so she can have sex with sparkly vampire."

"Touché."

Dean hummed against Cas's hair and pulled his shirt up his back until Cas knelt up to pull it off. Dean removed his shirts too and pulled Cas back down on top of him, skin-on-skin, the warmth of Dean's body welcoming Cas and seeming to envelop him. Cas rested his head on Dean's chest while Dean's hands worked over his back, kneading Cas's muscles to go some way to relieve the dull ache that was  _always_  there. Cas lazily and affectionately touched Dean in return, running his hand up and down Dean's chest, paying particular attention to his nipple, gently squeezing it between thumb and forefinger. Their easy silence was ended by Dean, who said, seemingly out of nowhere, "I don't know what it is with angels and orgies... I mean... are you just easily bored?"

Cas became very still as he realised that Dean was asking, indirectly, whether Cas was bored with him – due to what would appear to be Cas's lack of interest in recent times. Perhaps Dean didn't realise at all that Cas just didn't feel worthy of Dean after what had happened in Bobby's house – after not being able to protect Bobby or heal his injuries. It had not occurred to Cas that Dean wouldn't realise that; he was so sure that Dean blamed him, so sure that Dean was angry, so consumed by that line of thought... "Dean, I... No. I'm not bored." Cas propped himself up so he could see Dean's face, and Dean nodded but didn't meet his eyes.

"Because, you know, we've been doing this for a while now, and I get that you'd never had sex very much before me, so you might... I dunno..."

"I don't want anyone else." Cas said quickly, and truthfully. Dean met his gaze and looked surprised, which caused Cas a kind of physical pain in his stomach, something he realised was a pang of guilt. "There hasn't been anyone else for a long time. Not since last year."

Dean raised his eyebrows and seemed somewhat surprised by this. "Really?"

Cas nodded. "But I know, uh, it hasn't been the same for us, recently. But that's because of everything that's happened; I haven't really wanted sex at all." Cas hadn't intended to lie, but this was close enough to the truth to be an answer for Dean without them having to delve into the murky waters of what Cas's guilt was doing to his ability to establish intimacy with the man he felt he had let down.

Dean smiled a little in relief. "I can see that. Usually I'm kind of the opposite, you know, when I get depressed I over-compensate and have sex all the time..." he trailed off and frowned. "Is this the most intimate conversation we've ever had?"

Taking hold of Dean's shoulders, Cas moved forward to straddle Dean's hips and pressed their foreheads together. "You know," he grinned, "I think it might be."

"Well," Dean rested his hands on Cas's waist. "I'm glad we cleared that up."

"Dean..." Cas ran his hands down Dean's arms. "We really need to learn how to talk more."

"I know, man," Dean laughed.

"See things from each other's point of view."

"Yeah." Dean agreed and then looked at Cas curiously, as if surprised to find that he and Cas were on the same page.

Cas kissed him, deep and slow. Arousal burned within him but he was in no particular hurry, feeling relaxed like he could take his time.

"Cas..." Dean murmured against his lips. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," Cas replied, lazily running his fingers through Dean's hair.

"Do you have dreams? I mean, have you had any recently?"

"No," Cas shook his head and slid his hand down Dean's body in one smooth motion, stopping just above the waistband of his jeans. "Not recently."

"Does it... does it make you human? Does it mean you have a soul?" Dean asked, and Cas stayed quiet, genuinely having no idea anymore. Dean went on, "Because, on Star Trek, Data had dreams. You know, the android. There was an episode about it and what it meant for him."

"A machine can't have a soul," Cas replied simply, which made Dean roll his eyes.

"But... in real life, dreams are  _of the soul_. That's what you told me." Cas didn't know what to say, so he leaned down over Dean and gave him another kiss. Dean held onto his hair, pulling him back and meeting his eyes, demanding, "Answer me."

"I don't know the answer," Cas replied. "There are many ways for angels to fall, but none have fallen quite as I have, by being cut off from Heaven. Without Heaven's presence, he rules that govern the earth have changed."

Dean looked at him curiously, visibly thrown off balance as if he had forgotten that Cas was angel and had just been reminded. Everyone saw Cas as just a man now, even Cas himself, most of the time, though he hated it. "You're..." Dean hesitated. "You're still an angel. Like, if you had to be classed in a  _species_ , it would be angel, not human. Right?"

Cas shrugged. "Yes, but, maybe it is possible for an angel to have a soul anyway, for the nature of my grace to change until it becomes a soul, as humans would understand it. But then one must ask – at what point did this change? At what point was the line crossed when I somehow earned a human soul – or is it perhaps more accurate to say that I lost my right to angelic grace..."

Dean blinked and shook his head, laughing off the serious subject. "Dude, I'm way too high for this kind of shit." He pulled Cas down to kiss at Cas's collar bone and went on, punctuating his speech with kisses to Cas's skin. "Also too horny to talk about, you know, metaphysics..." Dean took a deep breath, the exhale coming out as a sigh. "Lie down."

Cas did so and watched as Dean straddled his hips and knelt to unfasten his belt. Cas was somewhat concerned about the state of his own soul, if he had one, and there was a sense in which he wanted to talk to Dean about it more – but he didn't feel entirely up to it in that moment. His perceptions and feelings had noticeably changed by then, thanks to the Ecstasy, and all he could really think about was wanting to be close to Dean, and suspected that Dean felt much the same way about him.

Pants and underwear removed, Dean returned to lie on top of Cas, pinning him to the bed. There was no great urgency to it, and the way Dean touched and kissed Cas was sensual, careful, considerate. It always was, but on this occasion Cas had the luxury of plenty of time to enjoy it, and the heightened senses to enjoy it with.

Cas held Dean close and rolled them over so he was on top of Dean, one leg between Dean's and pressed gently against his crotch. Dean smiled up at him and drew his lower lip into his mouth and glancing down between them. "I want–"

"I know what you want," Cas purred.

"That too," Dean laughed. "I want to tell you something." Dean looked him right in the eye, serious for a moment, and then suddenly broke into a grin. "Sometimes you speak Enochian when we have sex."

Cas laughed and let his forehead fall onto Dean's shoulder. "I know," he admitted.

"I like it," Dean confessed in his ear. "I don't even know what you're saying, but it gets me off..."

Cas grinned and sat up again holding the back of Dean's head and pulling him in for a kiss. "Thanks for telling me."

"No," Dean replied, blinking and looking away for a moment as if trying to get his thoughts together. "That wasn't what I was going to tell you."

"Then what were you going to tell me?"

"That..." Dean cupped the side of his face and looked into his eyes intently. "I'd never be bored of you, Cas. Not ever. The one-night-stand thing, that was never what I wanted, you know. We just always moved around so much and – I dunno – it was the way I was raised, I guess. But I always wanted... what I have with you, how you're familiar, you know me... it's awesome. That's what I want, Cas..." he trailed off and kissed Cas slowly, and sooner or later they got so consumed with that that they didn't speak anymore for several minutes.

Cas covered Dean's skin with kisses, making his way down Dean's neck to his freckled shoulders, down his chest and paying special attention to his nipples, licking and kissing and sucking at them until they were both flushed pink and erect. He kept his hands on Dean all the while as he made his way down, and every touch seemed deeper and more real somehow, like every time Cas touched Dean he was touching the  _real_  Dean: his soul – and perhaps it helped that Cas actually did remember what that felt like, and he was just mixing up his memories with what was really going on, like a dream.

Dean kept his hands on Cas at all times, either on his shoulders or running through his hair, always affectionate, always involved. As long as they were touching each other they held onto a shred of something else – an echo of the supernatural bond that Cas had accidentally formed with Dean when pulling him out of Hell. He hadn't expected Dean to be so...

Words failed Cas. In English, in Enochian, in all the languages of the world that there had ever been, words failed him. He had been in awe of Dean when they had first met – too enraptured by Dean's soul to let go of it, leaving the handprint behind. And in the present, the closest he could get to recapturing that feeling was with this, with sex.  _Making love_ , Cas had always called it at first. Dean cringed every time he heard it and told Cas to call it sex or fucking –  _like a normal person_. But neither of them were normal people.

Cas still thought Dean extraordinary, despite all his faults. The only way he could express himself, in human terms, was by this, by worshipping Dean's body with his own, with his hands and his mouth, making Dean feel like he was important, that he was loved. Cas peppered kisses over Dean's chest, keeping his eyes open to drink in the sight of his body. Even his chest and stomach had a smattering of freckles, just an isolated few here and there, and Cas could draw patterns between them with his eyes, with his fingers and with his tongue.

Dean reached over and got something they could use as lube – and their eyes met for a moment, Cas conveying his promises of everything he was going to do for Dean, to be close to him. Cas's hand descended between Dean's legs, a finger working on his entrance in what was by now a well practised routine, while he devoted his attention to pressing kisses to each one of Dean's freckles.

"Dean..." Cas mumbled against the soft skin of Dean's stomach as he used his fingers to open Dean up. "Your body is among the finest handiwork in all God's creation."

Dean went silent for a moment, his hands resting lightly on Cas's shoulders, until he said, incredulously, "What?!" Cas looked up at him with narrowed eyes, and Dean just laughed, throwing his head back on the pillow.

"Dammit, Cas..." he ran his fingers through Cas's hair. "You give the most awesome compliments, man..." He pulled gently at Cas's shoulder then, and Cas slid up his body until his face rested on the side of Dean's chest. Dean cradled Cas's head in his hands and pulled him in for a kiss. "You're a sexy bastard too..." Dean took a deep breath then and held Cas close as Cas resumed working his fingers into Dean. Dean let out a soft sigh and buried his face in Cas's hair. "Want you, Cas, need you."

Cas pushed himself up on his arm and withdrew his fingers. "We don't have any more condoms," Cas told him.

Dean just shrugged. "It's okay, it doesn't matter," he took hold of Cas's waist and pulled him closer impatiently. "Come on."

Cas got between Dean's open legs, feeling like he fitted there so perfectly that this was meant to be – even though it never was, which was part of why they fought so fiercely to keep it. Cas met Dean's eyes as he held him open and eased his cock inside, letting the warmth of Dean's body surround him, pull him in.

Dean pulled Cas close to whisper something in his ear, and Cas could hear the smile in his voice as he asked, "You gonna compliment me in Enochian?"

"Hmm..." Cas kissed Dean's cheek and hummed against his skin. "Even Enochian is an insufficient language for you." Dean cupped the side of Cas's face and looked up at him adoringly, and Cas quickly added, "English – of course – is even worse. Dean, I..." Cas trailed off as he started to move, giving Dean a kiss before getting into his rhythm. "This," Cas breathed, "This is the best way to say it, I think..."

"Yeah," Dean smiled, throwing his head back on the pillow and closing his eyes, focusing on the movements of his hips up to meet Cas, both of them getting lost in the sensation, getting lost in each other.

"You have Enochian on your ribs," Cas recalled, thinking back to the time he had shielded Sam and Dean from being found by other angels by carving sigils into their ribs. Cas stilled and looked at Dean's chest, trying to remember what he wrote. "Do you want to know what it says?"

Dean frowned at him and blinked in confusion, seeming quite aggrieved that Cas wasn't moving. " _What?_ "

"The Enochian on your ribs," Cas repeated, leaning over him and holding himself up on one arm, moving in and out of Dean in slow, lazy movements. Cas's right hand he moved over to the left side of Dean's chest, the highest of his ribs, tracing over the sigils beneath the skin. "The translation," Cas spoke haltingly between breaths in time with the thrusts of his hips, which caused Dean's eyelids to flutter as he watched. "From Enochian, to English, is difficult, but, roughly," Cas took a deep breath and watched his own hand, the fingertip of his index finger trailing over Dean's chest, reading from right to left, "This most beautiful face and body, I, angel of fire, recreated from glory, raised from perdition. This–" Cas snapped his hips forward faster than before, temporarily overwhelming him with pleasure and choking off his words so he could take a deep breath. He looked up at Dean, who was watching him rapturously. Cas continued, trailing his fingertip over Dean's chest, "This lovely form, full of stars, most–" Cas's eyes fell closed. "Most delectable, exemplar, of humanity, beloved, work of God. If you should dare harm him, expect God's retribution, and be smote, thou beast." Cas trailed his fingertips over Dean's lower most ribs, "I, Castiel, angel of the lord, do this, in God's glory..." Cas trailed off and let his hand fall to the bed beside Dean so that he could put some of his weight on it. He looked up at Dean's face, only moving his hips in slow thrusts.

The way that Dean was looking at him was something that Cas hadn't seen from him for years, or maybe ever, a kind of overwhelmed wonderment. Dean suddenly pushed himself up and tangled his fingers in Cas's hair, pulling him in for a hard and needy kiss, pulling at Cas's lower lip with his teeth. Dean pulled away and fell back down onto the bed, eyes closed tight. Dean took a deep breath and exhaled hard. "Fuck me..."

Cas knew it was a figure of speech but took it as a request to comply with anyway, lowering himself down over Dean's body and moving in and out of him in deep, slow thrusts. Dean's arms wrapped around Cas's back and his face nuzzled at Cas's neck. Cas kissed his way down Dean's neck to his shoulder, where he pulled the teeth between his flesh and bit gently, soothing the skin with kisses and working his way back up Dean's neck to his ear.

Dean's hand tangled in Cas's hair and held him close, and Cas could feel Dean's lips against his ear as he breathed, "Cas– Castiel... you're everything I have."

"Dean..." Cas pulled back to look at him. "You're everything I have, too."

Dean's eyes were heavily lidded and his look was almost one of sadness, one of loving Cas so much and needing Cas so badly that it physically hurt him. But it was a good hurt, Cas knew, because he felt the same thing, the same ache in the centre of his chest. Cas leaned down for a kiss, holding Dean's hips still and thrusting into him at just the right angle to rub over his prostate. Dean moaned into the kiss and clawed at Cas's hair, hitching his legs up to wrap around Cas's waist, heels pressed to Cas's ass to pull him in.

Kissing Dean, Cas let himself smile into it as he remembered how, in the beginning, Dean had insisted that if he was going to take it then he was going to bend over and  _take it like a man_ , rather than lie back and  _spread his legs like a woman_. Cas forgot sometimes just how far they'd come, how much things had changed between them as Dean gave up on lying to himself that he didn't really like this, that he was just making an exception for Cas because it was Cas. In fact, Cas was pretty sure at this point that doing this, in this position – this was Dean's favourite thing to do out of everything they did together. And, as Cas broke away and raised himself up to kneel between Dean's legs so he could watch him, he thought that it may well be his favourite position too; so intimate and about so much more than just the physical.

Cas lifted Dean's hips up off the bed and pulled him into his lap, which made Dean give a soft gasp of surprise. Somehow Dean was still surprised by Cas's strength, that Cas could easily hold Dean up like this and thrust into him firmly and in just the way he liked.

"Fuck," Dean panted, his body shaking with the impact of each of Cas's thrusts, faster and harder now. Dean's hands were clenched hard around the sheets, his head thrown to one side, Cas's hard and deep thrusts into him rendering him insensate with pleasure.

"Oh fuck..." Dean opened his eyes and blinked, mumbling, "'M close..." He brought his right hand up from the bed to touch himself – but Cas grabbed Dean's wrist and held it still.

"Cas please..." Dean moved his left hand so Cas took hold of that wrist too.

"Dean, wait, when you take Ecstasy you need to do it slowly, otherwise... you can't. You can't get off, I mean."

Dean looked somewhat unimpressed by this information. "Okay," he said, after a moment, with a touch of impatience.

" _Slowly_ ," Cas repeated.

" _Okay_ , dammit..."

Cas let Dean touch himself, while pulling out so that the tip was was only just inside and then slowly pushed into Dean, letting him savour the feeling of the long slide into him, filling him up until Cas's body was flush with Dean's. "Just focus on how it feels. Be in the moment."

"Mmmph..." Dean turned his head to one side, eyes screwed shut.

Cas smiled and gave Dean more slow, deep thrusts. He pushed himself back onto his knees again, fingers wrapped around Dean's thighs and holding him in place.

Dean barely opened his eyes, so heavily lidded with pleasure and dark with lust that only the faintest glimpse of green was visible. The warmth of Dean's hands covered Cas's where they rested on Dean's thighs. Dean licked his lips and then met Cas's eyes as slid his own hands up his own thighs and behind his knees, pulling his legs back.

Cas held himself up above Dean and started to thrust into him in earnest, in a firm, consistent rhythm, meeting Dean's eyes and holding his gaze as he did so. Dean's legs were up around Cas's chest, and Dean held himself open, returning one hand to his cock to stroke himself slowly, watching Cas, just focusing on how it felt.

_I love you_ , Cas hoped he conveyed with his look as he didn't really have the breath or composure to say anything, just watching Dean, lost in the way it felt. How much time passed, Cas had no idea, it didn't really matter. Dean did talk, but none of it made any particular sense; he repeated Cas's name, told him to keep going, asking for more, deeper, harder, faster...

"You can't do it like that," Cas panted. "I can feel you now," Cas leaned down on top of him, face against Dean's neck, "clenching around me," Cas swallowed hard, "trying to force yourself to come. Just relax..."

Dean made a wordless reply against the skin of Cas's neck, his arms and legs around Cas's back, holding him, as Cas felt himself getting close. Right hand pressed to the heated skin of Dean's shoulder, Cas's fingers curled around Dean's arm, above the faded mark of where the handprint used to be. As he did so something swept over him, a moment of clarity, a moment in which there was nothing else, no one else, just Dean, just him and Dean,  _together_  – together on a level which utterly transcended the physical to such an extent that Cas lost awareness of what he was doing for a few seconds – and this was it, the spiritual plane on which he and Dean had first met, all those years ago. Cas felt like heat and light and  _himself_  again, just for a moment.

"Cas! What...?" Dean's words were soft and rushing out of him chaotically in Cas's ear. Cas could sense confusion from Dean – perhaps he felt this connection too – but more than anything else Dean was as lost in the heat of the moment as he was. "Don't stop, please Cas– Cas..." At that Cas felt himself pass the point of no return, a feeling of fire in the pit of his stomach spreading out all over his body. Dean threw his head back and with a few fast, shallow breaths he threw his head back in a silent scream, and arched off the bed and finally came. Cas followed him over the edge quickly, letting go, burying his cock deep in Dean's body as the euphoria rushed through him, the wet heat of his come surrounding him on his last few thrusts before he stilled. Dean slammed his left fist down on the bed as with his right he worked through the last of his orgasm, the tension leaving his body and rendering him boneless and limp as he panted, eyes still closed, possibly swearing under his breath though Cas could hardly keep himself conscious enough to tell.

With supreme effort Cas pushed himself back onto his heels. His skin tingled and felt alive with sensation and he could hardly see though the stars in his vision, so he remained there with his eyes closed for a long moment trying to get his breath back, hands resting lightly on Dean's thighs. Cas had never come inside Dean without a condom on before and he was somewhat concerned that Dean would be annoyed about it, so he remained quiet and still to try and put off dealing with that for a moment.

When Cas finally opened his eyes he first reached for the towel to wipe off Dean's come from both of them, before pushing it between Dean's legs as he pulled out. "This part–" Cas said sheepishly, "it's, uh – it's not the most pleasant of sensations."

"No kidding," Dean replied with a slight wince, though he smiled at Cas anyway and motioned for him to lie down. Cas did so, settling on his side next to Dean, half on top of him, right arm over his chest, legs entwined, Dean's arm under his neck and around his shoulders.

"Dammit..." Dean murmured, breathless. He seemed slightly dazed, as if it hadn't yet dawned on him what had happened. "What was that?"

"What?" Cas asked.

"While we were... you know. And you touched the handprint scar. You feel that?"

Cas was quiet for a moment. "Yes." He wanted to answer Dean, but he honestly had no idea whether what they had experienced was some kind of echo of their supernatural connection or just physiological reactions created by their minds and the emotional significance that the handprint had.

Dean took in a deep, satisfied breath, apparently deciding he was too tired and sated to question a good thing. "Fucking Enochian poetry, too," Dean mumbled. He seemed to be talking more to himself than to Cas per se, so Cas just kissed him on the cheek and relaxed against him. After a moment Dean quietly added, "You're pretty intense, you know. During sex."

Cas hummed against Dean's skin but didn't say anything, not feeling able or inclined to talk much.

"I'm not sleepy," Dean said, thoughtfully.

"Me neither..." Cas reached again for the handprint on Dean's shoulder, though that time he didn't feel anything extraordinary, just the warmth of Dean's skin and the roughness and harshness of the scarred skin. Watching his own hand as if it were not truly part of him, Cas then slowly and lightly trailed his fingers all the way down Dean's arm to his hand, intertwining their fingers, holding his hand for a minute in comfortable silence.

"Dean," Cas began tentatively, "I know what you've been doing."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"You're not letting me go on missions," Cas sighed, the unspoken truth he felt he had been carrying for so long suddenly rushing out of him - because Dean needed to know, because Cas needed to tell someone. "Because you don't think I could do it, you think I'm useless, because you blame me for Bobby's death–"

"Cas!" Dean pushed Cas off to sit up, and Cas suddenly felt as if he might cry. "Cas, what the hell? Is that what you think?"

Cas looked up at him questioningly. "At– at Bobby's house, I–"

"I know you did the best you could–"

"And it wasn't enough. And I couldn't heal him – because I'm useless like this, Dean–"

"No." Dean pulled Cas into his arms and held him close. "No, don't say that." Dean held him for a moment, and Cas remained silent. "Is that what's been going on with you? All this time since... since Bobby?"

Cas nodded and Dean sighed. He pulled Cas closer and kissed him several times on the forehead, the temple, the cheek. "Dammit, Cas..." Dean murmured against his skin. Cas smiled weakly and relaxed against Dean. "I've..." Dean's voice sounded broken. "I haven't taken you on missions because... I've been trying to keep you safe. Matt's right. You die, and I'll kill you. Like I  _told_  you - I couldn't do this."

_Yes you could_. "But I... I can't help you, I didn't–"

"Shut up," Dean held him closer, his embrace a curious mixture of anger, affection, and all-consuming love. "Cas, what more will it take for you to get it?" Dean seemed to be at a loss for words after that and his grip tightened around Cas's body as if he was trying to fuse the two of them together. Cas shifted on the bed until he was lying next to Dean and could look him in the eyes. Dean almost looked as if he might cry – and then, and only then, Cas finally believed him. Maybe Dean didn't have the faith in him that he once had – because Cas wasn't as strong as he had once been, after all – but Dean really wasn't blaming him for what happened to Bobby. Even if Cas thought  _himself_  useless, apparently Dean didn't. Cas admired Dean's faith, and wished he shared it.

"You can't keep me here," Cas said quietly. "I have to help you. I can't stand it, just being here."

"I know," Dean conceded. "I know, waiting around here safe while other people fight, it's not what you want. It's not you – and you're depressed, I know."

"Depressed?" Cas narrowed his eyes, confused.

Dean just cupped the side of his face affectionately. "Doesn't even begin to cover it, I know. Maybe you wouldn't even call it that. But I know you've got to get back in the saddle. I've just been trying to protect you a while longer."

"I don't need your protection," Cas told him, more harshly than he meant to. "I've been a soldier a long time," Cas assured him. "I'll be fine."

"You can't promise me that – so  _don't_  promise me that, you son-of-a-bitch. Don't do that to me. Because promises from you, you know... it matters if you don't follow through. Other people – hell, I  _expect_  to get dicked over. From anyone else it wouldn't mean anything, but from you..."

"Okay," Cas conceded, realising Dean wasn't planning on finishing his sentence. Even while high Dean and 'chick-flick moments' were like oil and water.

"Okay," Dean agreed, lowering his voice, taking on his decisive tone. "Tell you what, you decide whether to come on missions or not. Whatever we're doing, however dangerous it is. It'll always be your call." They exchanged a smile, and then Dean looked away with faint embarrassment before going on, "Man, why have you been letting me tell you what to do anyway? Five years ago you threatened to throw my ass back in Hell if I didn't do what  _you_  said."

Cas laughed to gloss over the serious impact that question had on him internally, and gave Dean's ass a gentle squeeze, replying, "I was never really going to throw your ass back in Hell. I was just, uh, asserting my dominance."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Your  _dominance_ , huh?"

Cas grinned. "You uh, seem to like it..."

"Oh is that right?"

Cas laughed and leaned in for a kiss, which Dean readily received. Sometimes, it seemed, they both forgot just how far Cas had fallen in such a short time, and remembering how things used to be, how much had changed, it was probably more jarring for Cas than it was even for Dean. Although, Cas knew, Dean used to hold Cas up on a pedestal; he was an angel, after all. But Cas fell off the pedestal a long time previously, and by then, Cas hadn't really thought it his place to go against Dean's decisions or over-rule him – in truth the idea hadn't occurred to him. He was built to follow, after all, and Dean was the only person left for him to follow. But Dean didn't want Cas to be a follower, a subordinate. Dean still thought of Cas as more than that.

Cas broke their kiss. He still felt energised, like he could go for a run or dance or something – and judging by the way Dean was looking at him, he felt the same way.

"Dean," Cas ran his fingers through Dean's short hair. "Whatever you're doing, whatever missions you go on, I'll go with you." Dean smiled and closed his eyes. "I'll go with you," Cas repeated. "And I'll do my best." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The translation of the Enochian sigils on Dean's ribs is based on a post on Tumblr (http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/49033229443/silvermoonphantom-for-translation-im-using). I also took some liberties with it because, well, I felt like it. Also it's hard to make Enochian make sense in English so there's some artistic licence to be had.
> 
> I know nothing much actually happened in this chapter except for talking and sex lol, but it establishes info and stuff for the next few chapters where lots of stuff happens.
> 
> P.S. Don't take Ecstasy.


	9. Highway Star

Dean and Cas fell back into their old routine of searching for more information about Lucifer, the colt, and what other demons were doing, but as per their routine, they made little progress. They still looked for some confirmation that Crowley was alive, or conclusive confirmation that he was dead, but they didn't find either. They couldn't find Bela either, and no one seemed to know who she was. Dean said that this made sense, considering that she changed her name "every five minutes".

It came as something of a relief, then, when they had to go out for supplies rather than for information. Supplies were always low in the camp, and every now and then it became essential to go on an emergency supply run.

The trouble was, they needed more gasoline in order to drive anywhere, as that was in short supply in itself. Cas's only half-sarcastic suggestion that they keep horses and learn to ride was met by an unamused scowl from Dean. (Though he was rather more receptive to the idea later when, in private, Cas talked to him at length about how good he thought Dean would look dressed as a cowboy.)

But for the time being, they had trucks and jeeps, which were the best kind of vehicles to have out there but were not exactly the most economical. On the second day of discussing this issue, in the evening, Dean was quiet and detached until he said evasively that he was going out for a while.

Cas followed at a discreet distance to see what he was doing, and even through the darkness saw that Dean had gone to the Impala, and was walking round to the other side of it.

The Impala was a sorry sight by that time. In the old days they used to "visit" the car, sitting in it for hours listening to Dean's tapes, and talking. They even had sex in the back a few times, after it was dark and deserted in the camp. But that had all stopped quite suddenly after a man named Jeremy, who had since died, had caught them there one time, and told the rest of the camp gossips all about it. And the issue was not so much the sexual nature of it, but the fact that what Jeremy had actually seen had been Dean and Cas  _after_  sex, lying there together cuddling and kissing slowly and tenderly.  _That_  was what Dean didn't want anyone else to know about;  _that_  was the threat to his macho image. Dean's relationship with Cas was, after that, always confined to their cabin, shut away where no one else could see in.

Dean had continued to visit the Impala for a little while, but eventually admitted to Cas that it wasn't the same alone at all. Cas reasoned that this was because the empty passenger seat served to remind Dean painfully of the loss of Sam. It was after that that, slowly but surely, Dean stopped taking care of the car. A layer of filth and grime built up over the body, weeds grew up around it and crept into the engine bay.

Cas had cleaned the car, once, which Dean had been unaccountably furious about. Cas had intended it as a gesture of his concern, but Dean seemed to take it as an invasion of his privacy and violation of the sanctity of his property. Word quickly got round the camp that no one touched the Impala. Not ever.  _Not even Cas_.

Cas stayed where he was, standing some distance from the car, remaining perfectly still to just listen. He could hear a series of clicks, the scrape of something turning, contacts with the ground which got muddled up by the evening breeze. When he heard Dean cough as if choking, Cas ran towards the car on instinct, to help him, to–

Cas rounded the back of the car to see Dean kneeling on the ground, looking up at him with surprise. In front of Dean was a gas can, and a hose linked it to the Impala. Dean looked away and coughed again, spitting onto the ground.

"You're siphoning the gas," Cas stepped closer and knelt down opposite Dean.

"Really?" Dean replied, sarcastically, his voice raspy. "Is that what's happening? Thanks, Sherlock..."

For a moment Cas just sat there quietly, listening to the quiet trickle of fuel into the can. "Is there much fuel left in the car?"

Dean gave him a disparaging look and then looked away. "Not really." But they were running so low, any amount would help. "Desperate times..."

They sat in silence after that for a long time, and Cas let himself go over his memories of the Impala – of the early days of hunting with Dean, driving back and forth the country in the car, getting involved in a couple of car chases, always coming out of it together. In those days, to Cas, the car was just a machine. Not even a machine he much cared for – too slow compared to flight, too loud, too much of a drain on money and resources. But since the car had been damaged beyond repair, since it could not run anymore, Cas found that he missed it. Not as much as Dean did, certainly, but Dean truly loved the car. To Dean, it wasn't just a machine.  _A machine can't have a soul_ , Cas remembered saying, but he smiled to himself and thought that perhaps it could. Cas pressed his hand to the metal of the rear fender as if he expected to feel life within, something other than cold metal and peeling black paint. "I do miss this car," Cas offered.

Dean shrugged. "Thought you hated riding in cars. Too slow."

"It's the fastest means of travel for me now," Cas replied, not intending it to sound as bitter as it did.

"Bobby offered to help me fix her, you know," Dean revealed, which surprised Cas a little as he had not known that. "I said no. 'Cause I knew something else bad would probably happen to her anyway, and we'd be forced to abandon her in some ditch by the side of the road somewhere."

Cas was silent for a moment. "So you kept her at the camp," he said slowly, internally wondering when he started calling the car 'her'. "Because even though it doesn't run and is no use, at least it's safe here." He then stared at Dean for a long moment until he saw that Dean realised the point Cas was making, that Dean had done precisely the same thing to Cas as he had to the Impala.

Dean chose not to address that point. "Kinda wish me and Bobby  _had_  worked on the car. Didn't spend enough time with him – hell, I think you spent more time with him than me towards the end. What did you two talk about?"

"Uh..." Cas still felt uneasy talking about Bobby, his mind flashing back to seeing him, on the back seat of the station wagon as they sped away from his old house, the blood, the smell, the way the life drained out of him. "We um," Cas swallowed hard, finding it difficult to talk. "We talked about lore, mostly. Spells, scriptures, theology. Also how things worked: angel radio, Lucifer's power, angel power generally and how it... you know... electrical fields..." Cas trailed off.

"He was some kinda dysfunctional drunk genius," Dean said softly. "Like you."

"And you," Cas added, which made Dean scoff and shake his head.

"Do you miss Bobby?" Dean asked.

The question hit Cas hard. Cas had given so much thought and care to  _Dean's_  grief about Bobby that he had rather neglected his own. "I–" Cas struggled to talk through the constriction of his throat. "I miss Bobby." Dean got to his feet and moved toward Cas, but what Cas said next made him stop in his tracks – "I miss Sam too."

Dean just stared at him with that wary, flighty look that he always got at the mention of Sam's name. Cas stood up, looked at the gas can, now quiet, filled with all the gas it was going to be filled with, and tried to think of Bobby again, though the pain of losing him was too recent, too raw, and it was hard to face it. Thinking of Sam was strangely easier; it had been so many years now since Sam had been gone, nearly two that he had been dead – or existing in a state of almost death, possessed by Lucifer.

Cas wasn't sure whether they should talk more about this, feeling sure that they probably should – but he was unprepared for it. And besides, it wasn't the best moment for Dean. Dean spat on the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You ever tasted gas?" Dean asked. 

"I, well, I know what it tastes like," Cas replied, which made Dean frown, one corner of his mouth turning up in incredulity. "Not from the human perspective," Cas elaborated, "but I know the chemical composition of everything, so in theory I know what everything tastes like." He knew he wasn't making himself clearer. He nodded back in the direction of their cabin. "Come on."

Dean disconnected the hose, picked up the gas can, started walking back to the cabin. As he passed, Cas put his arm around Dean's shoulders – because  _why the hell not?_  Dean shot him a questioning look but didn't tell Cas to stop, so they walked like that for the short distance back to the cabin; it was pretty much the most public affection they'd ever engaged in. They didn't talk anymore about Bobby, or Sam.

* * *

The fuel was locked away in a cupboard under their cabin overnight, and then the next morning Dean and Cas took it over to the supply cabin, where it could be kept with the rest.

Chuck lived there, as did a young woman named Allison, who helped Chuck to guard the place, run it, and allocate the supplies that they had available.

Allison's red hair came into view first, and as Dean and Cas got closer they could see her sat on the front porch, long legs dangling over the edge, gun parts either side of her which she was engaged in cleaning.

Before all this, she had been a college and was planning on grad school, but since that opportunity had been denied to her she had learned how to be pretty handy with a gun. She was a quick learner, fiercely intelligent, and didn't take anybody's crap. All useful skills for her role in guarding the rations cabin from anybody who might feel entitled to more than their fare share.

"Hey," Dean called to her. "I hear from Chuck that we need supplies. You got a list?"

Allison rolled her eyes. "Yes, Dean, I have a list." She paused to look at him, holding up the cylinder she was cleaning. "You expect me to go get it now?"

"If it's not too much trouble," Dean replied, with faux politeness. She sighed, made a point of laboriously putting down what she was doing and getting up, and then went inside to fetch the list. She and Dean rubbed each other the wrong way and always had; for some reason Dean's black-and-white view of the world and the unhesitating, unflinching way he would kill  _monsters_  seemed to rile her. They used to argue, but didn't anymore; she simply avoided speaking to Dean as much as possible.

"Hey guys," Chuck stepped out of the cabin wrapped in a robe, blinking and rubbing his eyes as if he had just woken up, though it was nearly noon. "What's up?"

"Do you want a beer?" Allison called out, to all of them. Somehow or another they always seemed to have alcohol. The apocalypse only seemed to make its manufacture more of a priority.

"Sure," Cas replied, and accepted the beer Allison got for him. She got one for Dean too, though she didn't look at him while she handed it to him.

Chuck accepted a beer too, and Allison raised her eyebrows and asked, "You just woke up and you're having a beer?"

"Hair of the dog," Chuck shrugged, taking a long pull from the bottle. Cas narrowed his eyes and tried to work out how dog hair was relevant, while Chuck began speaking to Dean at some length about toilet paper, and how they only had 70 rolls left to give out the next time they distributed it – which might sound like a lot, but divided between everyone in the camp, actually wasn't. At all.

Allison leaned back on the wooden railings. "So if we divide it equally that will be almost half a roll each."

"Yeah, okay Karl Marx," Dean rolled his eyes. "Just give couples or whatever one roll, and then figure the rest out." Allison almost looked like she wanted to protest that this wasn't quite fair, so Dean went on, "Hey – if you want to count out all the individual squares of toilet paper and divide them equally by 156, fine, it's your time to waste, I guess..."

Allison rolled her eyes and folded her arms, snipping, "Well, I can figure it out for myself."

"Yeah, you do that..." Dean looked at his mostly full bottle of beer and then attempted to drink much of it quickly, in a hurry to leave.

Chuck looked between Dean and Cas. "Do you know of somewhere to get more toilet paper?" He grinned. "I feel like this should be a high priority."

"It is," Dean snapped. "But it's still below shit like  _Insulin_ , okay?"

Chuck looked at the floor between his feet and fiddled with his bottle of beer. "Yeah, sorry."

Cas smirked and took a sip of his beer.  _And Dean thinks that_ I _have no sense of humour_.

Allison was stood leaning on the wooden railing at the side of the veranda, looking out across the camp, so Cas went and stood next to her.

"Hey," she nudged Cas's arm with her elbow, "Something I've always wondered... I hope this doesn't upset you or anything, but – Lucifer's an angel, right?"

Cas raised his eyebrows. "Yes."

"But he still has power even though he's cut off from Heaven..."

"He draws power from Hell," Cas explained, stiffly.

"Oh," Allison replied, downcast. "I kinda thought that might be it. Can't... I mean, if you..."

"No," Cas shook his head, glancing back at Dean and Chuck, who were listening to their conversation. "Theoretically it could be possible, but it's not the same as drawing power from Heaven. It would make me intrinsically linked with a lot of other things; the electrical energy in the atmosphere that causes lightning, the forces that govern how demons operate, that kind of thing. It's very complex. I would attract Lucifer's attention but I doubt that I would be strong enough to fight him. I was never an archangel. It would be like, uh..." Cas scanned the camp in search of some simile by which he could explain what it would be like, his gaze settling on one of the trucks. "It would be like trying to strap a jet engine to a car. The raw power would probably tear me apart before I could use it."  _Probably,_ Cas thought to himself. _I would probably die._  "It might be worth a shot," Cas shrugged. "I mean at this point it's pretty much our best option, right?" Cas had intended it as a throwaway comment, hyperbole, but when the words actually passed Cas's lips they passed imbued with all the bitterness and anger that he had within him.

Allison had listened patiently, as had the others, but now everyone could sense that a change of subject was needed.

"You know how all the bees were dying? Before?" Allison asked, her voice an octave higher than before as she tried to talk them out of the awkwardness. "But since the apocalypse the bees have actually been doing better, even though our climate has gone to shit?"

Cas smiled. "The climate is only, uh, shit, from your perspective. For most other animals the climate is nothing they can't adapt to. It's humans Lucifer hates. I gather Lucifer actually loves the planet, or at least he thinks he does."

There were bees flitting between the wild flowers that grew up around the edges of the cabin and when Cas stuck out his hand, one bee tentatively approached him and landed on it.

"Won't it sting you?" Asked Allison.

"It doesn't have a sting," Cas replied, bringing his hand closer to his face to study the bee. "Most bees don't. Wasps – wasps do. I'm sorry about wasps. None of us really know what God was thinking with those things. Everyone has off days."

Chuck laughed at that, patted Cas on the shoulder, said he had to go and retreated back into the cabin. Allison laughed too and rested her chin on her hand, watching Cas. "It's not scared of you," she observed, her voice curious.

Dean exhaled loudly and cleared his throat behind them. "Okay, Doctor Dolittle, let the bee go, we got stuff to do."

"Hmm..." Cas continued to watch the bee as it crawled over the back of his hand. "Did you know – after male bees copulate their testicles explode and their penises are ripped from their bodies."

Allison and Dean both stared at him in silence for a long moment before Allison burst out laughing, and Dean even reluctantly broke into a smile.

After that, Dean finally got Cas to leave, and they walked back across camp with their things, and the list that they would need to look over, knowing they would have to work out how to find as many of the things on it as possible. Cas assumed that that was what they were going to discuss immediately, but as they walked, Dean asked, "God really fucked up with the wasps?"

"Well, they have their role in the ecosystem. I was kidding. Mostly."

They walked in silence for much of the way back to their cabin, though Cas knew that Dean was thinking about something other than the supply list or  _wasps_. Finally, he said carefully, "Cas, you... you never talk about God anymore."

"No." Cas didn't want to talk about him either, and would prefer not to think about it–

"Come on," Dean nudged Cas's arm with his own and led him back to the Impala.

Opening the door, Dean said, "Get in."

Cas leaned inside and swept some of the dead leaves out before climbing into the passenger seat and sitting down, by which time Dean had thrown himself down in the driving seat. Cas watched him do all this with narrowed eyes until Dean threw up his hands and then hit them decisively on the steering wheel. "Talk to me."

Cas was silent for a moment. "About what? Supplies?"

"No. God."

_Fuck_. "I thought we had stuff to do?"

"This  _is_  the stuff we have to do," Dean chastised him. "Come on – God."

Cas shrugged casually. "What about him?"

"You stopped looking for him."

"Yeah."

Dean sighed wearily. "Dammit, Cas, what did we say about talking?"

Cas glanced at Dean furtively and rubbed the back of his neck. "Why are we talking about this  _now?_  I stopped looking for him years ago. The amulet is gone."

"Do you... pray?"

_No_. "None of my prayers to God were ever answered. He's either dead or... he doesn't care."

Dean clasped his hands together and sat in pensive silence for a long time. "But he had a plan, right? God's plan? And we... we didn't follow it."

"God never had a plan," Cas said, definitively. "He wanted free will – he got it. And after thousands of years of random events, here we are."

"But it was all on track. Including..." Dean paused uncomfortably, the next few words forced out on a single breath, "Sam saying 'yes' to Lucifer." Dean then hit the Impala's steering wheel with his fist and breathed deeply through his nose, a sigh finally escaping his mouth as a deflated, hollow noise. "And I was supposed to say 'yes' to Michael – and I didn't. And now here we are."

"Hey," Cas turned to frown at Dean, "you weren't  _supposed_  to do anything. Sam wasn't  _supposed_  to do anything. None of this was supposed to happen – it just  _did_."

"But..." Dean stared through the grimy windscreen, not meeting Cas's gaze. "But the bloodlines for me and Sam–"

"It was a possibility," Cas conceded. "It was made possible for you to say 'yes' to Michael and Sam to say 'yes' to Lucifer, but just because a thing is possible doesn't mean it should be done."

Dean frowned. "But... why?"

Cas laughed, bitterly. "A test? Curiosity? Outright sadism? Fuck, I don't know, Dean..."

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "So you think... God wanted free will all along?"

"Yeah, ironic though that is. We fought for the freedom God wanted us to have all along, and these are the consequences we got stuck with." Cas gazed blankly out of the windscreen. "Freedom is a length of rope, and God wants you to hang yourself with it."

"Well jeez, don't sugar-coat it Cas..." Dean tried to speak jokingly, dismissively, but Cas could tell that Dean was actually somewhat disturbed to hear Cas talk that way.

"I wish I had all the answers." Cas sighed, reflecting on how sure he was of the meaninglessness of everything while Dean seemed to be dangerously close to actually believing in the prophesies and scripture. "When you and I first met," Cas concluded, "you had nothing but questions and I thought I had all the answers. And now, here we are."  _The other way around_.

Cas sighed and let his head fall back against the seat, and a minute passed in silence. "This is all academic," Cas said finally. "Michael's gone. God's gone. Lucifer's here. We should talk about Lucifer."

Dean was quiet for a long time, and at first Cas wondered whether he had even been listening. Finally, he lamented, "No one's seen Lucifer in months."

"We never get to see Lucifer," Cas repeated, thoughtfully. "We only see his effects."

Dean looked at him blankly. "Your point?"

Cas shrugged. "I don't really have one. Other than, well, that's why it's so hard to kill him. We can't even find him. We can't find the colt. We can't–"

"Yes  _thank you_  Cas," Dean silenced him, wearily. Dean abruptly opened the door and climbed out of the car, brushing the dust and leaves and other dirt from the car off himself, and Cas followed suit.

Jane spotted them then as she walked by and raised her hand, walking down to them. Ever since her sister's death Jane had been trying hard to keep busy – arguably trying too hard, devoting herself to training and being a good soldier for the camp. She'd been on more missions than Cas had been on since Bobby's death.

They both greeted her and established that she was going to the firing range for some target practice with Matt and a couple of others. Dean frowned and protested, as he had had no idea that this was due to happen.

Jane shrugged. "Well, that's just what Matt said we were doing–"

"When did he say it?" Dean interrupted.

"Last night," Jane answered, biting her lip.

The responsibility of organising target practice had been Yaeger's until Dean had him doing more important things. Since then, Matt had taken over the role. Cas had assured Dean that the best way to keep Matt on side was to keep him busy, let him feel useful, let him feel in charge of something. But in fact, Matt abused his position for petty irritation and one-upmanship. As an angel, Cas was used to unquestioning loyalty and obedience, and had no real idea how to deal with human recalcitrance effectively. He wasn't surprised that Matt had not behaved as he had hoped.

"You know what," Dean sighed. "I don't care. If Matt sees me getting pissed off he'll only do it more."

"I'm sorry," Jane interrupted. "I didn't realise we weren't supposed to. I did tell a few other people round the camp that we were gonna be doing it, people with kids especially, you know, so they don't get scared."

"Oh," Dean nodded, pleasantly surprised that Jane had taken that responsibility upon herself. "Okay. Good."

Jane smiled. "So what are you guys up to?"

"Discussing the apocalypse," Cas replied simply.

Dean rolled his eyes and Jane just laughed. "Oh, yeah,  _apocalypse_. That sucks." She grinned for a moment, before becoming a little more serious. "Listen – about all that Staff of Moses stuff we heard about..."

"The camp  _is_  protected," Cas assured her.

"I know," Jane nodded. "But, I mean, if everywhere around us got affected, we'd live, but we'd still be pretty screwed, right? We'd be trapped here, like, under siege."

Cas glanced at Dean, to see Dean looking back at him, concerned. "Uh..." Cas thought for a moment. "The plagues sweep across the land – but they don't generally last a long time. We would live, I think."

"You  _think_ ," Jane repeated, trying to remain cavalier in her reaction. "Well that's... reassuring."

"What I still don't get," Dean frowned, "is why he doesn't attack America with the Staff of Moses."

Cas suddenly realised something, like a revelation, and once he realised it, it seemed obvious. "He doesn't want to kill you, Dean."

"What?"

"Well," Cas cocked his head to one side, "he  _does_  want to kill you, but not like that. He wants to kill you personally. He doesn't want to unleash the plagues on this part of the planet because he doesn't want to risk killing you accidentally."

"What about Croatoan?"

Cas shrugged. "Someone like you can be reasonably expected to avoid Croatoan. But the plagues are a different matter."

"So you're saying," Dean said slowly, "that just by me being in America, I protect the whole of America from biblical plagues?"

Cas shrugged. "I know this is going to do nothing to reduce your egocentricity, but, essentially, yes."

Dean nodded at first as if this was amusing, but he soon settled down to a more resigned and grim expression. "Why?"

"I don't know."

"Is it..." Dean glanced at Jane. "Is it because of Sam?"

Cas looked between Dean and Jane, finally addressing her, "Perhaps you should go."

"Jane knows," Dean explained brusquely.

"What?" Cas replied, before he could stop himself.  _No one_  aside from Cas, Chuck (and formerly Bobby) knew that Dean's brother was Lucifer's vessel. Not even Risa and Yaeger knew that. And yet Jane did? Cas felt jealousy flare up within him.

"I told her–"

"When?" Cas snapped, through gritted teeth.

Dean just shook his head, "What, am I not allowed to talk to people other than you?"

Jane cleared her throat. "I'm uh, I'm gonna go..."

"You do that," Cas snapped at her.

As soon as she was gone, Cas pressed Dean on the matter, "You said it's dangerous for anyone else to find out–"

"We can trust Jane."

"Since when did you  _trust_  people?"

Dean just frowned at him. "You think we can stay on topic here? You know, all this boring end of the world crap?"

"Fine," Cas conceded. "What about it?"

Dean seemed exasperated. "About Lucifer not attacking us! Don't you know what this  _means?_ " Dean growled. Cas shook his head. "It means Bobby died for nothing!"

_Oh_. "No–"

"Yeah," Dean clenched his jaw. "We got Bobby killed to get stuff to protect this camp from a weapon that Lucifer's not even going to use."

"Dean–"

"Save it!" Dean snapped.

"Dean, the spell is useful for other–" Cas tried to explain but Dean was past listening. "It will protect this place against demons generally, croats too, and the things we got can be used for other spell in future..." Cas trailed off as he realised it was useless, Dean turning his back on Cas and making for the meeting cabin.

"I am just so done," Dean said softly, as Cas caught up to him. "This shit has gone too far because of me."

"This isn't because of you–"

"I broke the first seal," Dean said, defeatedly.

"I didn't act soon enough against the corruption of Heaven, and Sam let Lucifer out of the box," Cas said patiently. "We all made mistakes, we were trying to do what was best–"

"No," Dean replied darkly, turning back to Cas, and Cas knew already what Dean was thinking about. The two of them very seldom talked about Sam, but what they  _never_  talked about was Hell. "When I tortured those souls," Dean said quietly. "I wasn't doing anything good. I wasn't trying to make anything better for anybody – except myself."

"It's not your fault."

The conversation ran out of steam and Cas didn't know what more he could say. He opened his arms and took a step towards Dean in an offer of a hug, but Dean quickly turned away, trudging the rest of the way to the meeting cabin.

Cas followed, and found Dean sat at the table. "Come on," Dean said brusquely, "Let's talk about supplies."

"Dean–"

"You wanted to talk about supplies," Dean snapped, "so let's get this organised. I need to make some calls. One to the national guard; talk about what kind of aid we can get, you know, from Canada. Get the satellite phone."

Cas sighed and did so, and they spent the next several hours working out where and how they might come by the supplies they needed, and planning their missions, until other topics were buried. The army was going to come to them, at some point, whenever they felt like it. All this took much of the afternoon, and Dean also spent some time talking to Azaria about medical supplies, for once going himself instead of sending Cas to go and talk to her.

After they had dinner, Dean stayed at the mess hall to talk to people, while Cas returned home, talking to people not being his strongest suit and certainly not something he was in the mood for. It was dark by then, and most of their plans relating to supplies were in place.

While Cas waited for Dean he noticed that on one of the shelves were board games, gathering dust, and on top of those a deck of cards. He and Dean had played board games in the past, and Cas rather enjoyed the activity, but they never seemed to get the time anymore. Cas doubted that Dean would be in the mood on this particular evening. He may want to get drunk, though, so Cas opened up the cabinet and attempted to get the bottles in order, putting the ones that had been opened near the front. He opened a half-drunk bottle of wine and smelled it, and could tell instantly that it had expired and was probably undrinkable.

Dean returned, kicking off his boots, taking off his jacket, obviously not intending to go out again. He went into the other room to sit at the small table and got straight back to their planned missions, reading over the information, checking that their ideas made sense, attempting to prioritise, deciding where to go first, maps spread out in front of him.

Cas went and stood behind him, hands on Dean's shoulders. "Dean, I think we've done all we can do on this today."

"No," Dean murmured, "I want to go out tomorrow, before the army comes, rather than wait around for them. Chuck will be happy; I think I know where we can get some toilet paper." He pointed out the place on the map. "It's medical supplies mostly, but I called them earlier. They also have, uh, you know, supplies for women."

"I see," Cas nodded, and then realised he was standing behind Dean and Dean could not see him.

Dean leaned back and rested the back of his head against Cas's stomach, and chuckled, adding, "I know there's no real TV anymore, apart from addresses from the government, but if they still had trailers for tampons and stuff now, instead of roller-skating or whatever, women could run around with machine guns kicking demons in the face. That would actually be awesome."

Cas laughed and squeezed Dean's shoulders. Dean was so much happier when he had things to do, clear short-term goals that he could accomplish. Cas had no intention of spoiling Dean's good mood by bringing up anything about Lucifer or God.

"So," Cas slid his hands down Dean's chest a little way. "Tomorrow. For this mission we're going on, are we getting up early?"

"We always get up early."

"Then we should probably go to bed," Cas went on, suggestively.

Dean was quiet and still for a long moment. He suddenly seemed to regain awareness of himself, though, grabbed Cas's hand and quickly kissed the back of it before getting up.

He turned to Cas and put his hand on Cas's shoulder, regarding him with an expression that Cas couldn't interpret; reflective and rather sad. Cas moved in closer and kissed him, assuming that a kiss would make things better. Dean still seemed detached, though, as if he was pre-occupied. Dean was quite often pre-occupied, though Cas wasn't sure why on this occasion. Their mission the following day was a round trip of less than 200 miles, to somewhere they had been before, which was a 'walk in the park' by the standards of what they dealt with, so Cas thought it unlikely that Dean was worried about that.

_We should talk more,_  Cas remembered.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean straightened as if coming out of a trance, putting his hands on Cas's waist.

"What are you worried about?"

Dean looked back at him, unimpressed. "The apocalypse, Cas. Lucifer." He let his hands fall to his sides. "God."

"Don't–" Cas stalled, clenching his jaw and stepping away. Bitterness suddenly overcame him as he withdrew from the conversation. "Don't waste your time worrying about God. He doesn't deserve it; he doesn't spend his time worrying about you." 


	10. A Stranger in a State of Change

The first time Cas and Dean kissed was in April 2012, three months before  _Detroit_ , where Sam said 'yes' to Lucifer. They had been hunting and searching for the colt together for almost two and a half years, on and off. Castiel's last-ditch attempt to convince other angels to help them had been a year earlier, and that had very nearly ended in him being killed. Certainly, it had killed Jimmy Novak, leaving the vessel empty except for Castiel, and ever since then, he and Dean had gone practically everywhere together.

Cas didn't replace Sam and he didn't try to – he tried to be himself, though he wasn't entirely clear on what  _being himself_  as a human involved. He copied Dean in many things at first; eating the same food, listening to the same music, watching the same movies. It took a while for Cas to develop his own tastes and opinions – he wasn't as into metal music as Dean was, preferring more soulful and slow songs with interesting lyrics, or intricately crafted music with no lyrics at all, and he didn't see what was enjoyable about some of the action movies Dean liked to watch, always picking the holes in the plot. “It's just a movie, Cas,” Dean would say in exasperation. “The whole point of kicking back and watching a movie is, you know, to take some time out from stuff. It's so you don't have to think, don't have to analyse all the damn time.”

Cas had not understood, and Dean often said Cas was too uptight. Cas didn't want to be uptight. At least, he didn't think so. He started drinking more, started letting go of the discipline he had maintained as a soldier.

He would not have made a great hunter alone, if he hadn't been with Dean; as Cas rather lacked the social skills and interpersonal insight to unravel people's behaviour – which was often key to solving cases. Cas did bring to the table extensive knowledge of spells and lore. And of course, he had power – usually being able to smite a demon as long as he had had a while to recharge since the last time he did it. Dean taught Cas how to operate guns, and Cas was already excellent with hand-to-hand combat and fighting with knives. If Cas was injured he healed himself, and if Dean was injured Cas could almost always heal him, or at least improve his condition.

All in all, they made a great team. They generally avoided the areas and sometimes entire states that were already being run under Martial Law at that time and did what they could. They continued searching for the colt, of course, but undertook other hunts in the meantime; to keep busy, to feel useful, and to save people. At that time, saving people still mattered to Dean; this was before his monomania about Lucifer and the colt had closed in around his mind at the expense of all else. He and Cas became very close friends, they enjoyed being together, they hunted together, and they trusted each other with their lives.

And one cool evening in April 2012, they had laid to rest the ghosts of an entire family that had been massacred in their home – but whose spirits had left for a number of different locations due to being attached to various objects from the house. Due to the seemingly unconnected hauntings in rural in Oregon, the ghosts had wreaked havoc for decades before Dean and Cas had managed to work out where they had all come from and get rid of them.

They got back to the motel late at night – covered in soil and soot from digging up graves and salting and burning the remains. They each took showers and then Dean decided they should have a few beers to celebrate a job well done. Dean was in an uncharacteristically good mood, feeling proud of himself for once, and Cas tried to nurture that as best as he could and keep Dean's mind off Lucifer and all things apocalypse. They were finally friends again after Dean's attempt to say 'yes' to Michael a few weeks prior, and Cas wanted to be sure that things stayed as they were. They talked for hours and ended up getting pretty drunk together, moving on from beers to scotch.

The motel room only had one bed; that was all that had been available and it was the only place in town they could afford. Cas assured Dean that it didn't matter, that sitting in a chair and closing his eyes would be sufficient rest for him. But after drinking a substantial amount of alcohol, Cas changed his mind.

“Come on,” Dean pushed Cas's arm. “Get off the bed, I want to sleep.”

“No,” Cas mumbled, not opening his eyes. He pulled back the covers and crawled under them, making himself comfortable.

“Son of a bitch... No! Get out of there...” Dean knelt on the bed next to him and tried to pull the covers off, but Cas just held onto them more tightly. “Cas,” Dean laughed as they fought over the covers for a while, Dean variously trying to push Cas off one side of the bed or pull him out the other.

“Dean,” Cas stayed where he was. “There's really no reason we can't sleep in the same bed. There is enough space. It would be more economical.”

“You don't even sleep,” Dean retorted.

“Exactly.”

“What? No, man, I'm not agreeing with you... you'll just lie there all night and watch me; it would be weird.”

“Dean...” Cas smiled to himself. “I seldom watch you. I know you don't like it.”

“Yeah, I, wait– seldom? How often is  _seldom?_ ”

Cas just laughed, lying down on his back and stretching out. Dean sighed in exasperation and fell onto the bed next to him, pushing the tangled blankets back and then pulling them loosely over himself. “You're such a creep.”

“I'm sorry.”

Dean laughed and reached for the switch by the bed, turning the lights off. Cas was more than a little surprised that he did so – was Dean really going to sleep next to him? In the same bed? He had totally expected Dean to say no and was thrown off by the unexpected development of actually having Dean lying next to him in real life, not just a fantasy. Red neon light filtered in through the thin curtains, so Cas could still see Dean fairly well, and watched him curiously.

“Dude,” Dean propped himself up on his arm, lying on his side and looking down at Cas. “What did I  _just_  say? Don't watch me.”

“I like to watch you,” Cas said, before he could stop himself.

Dean's eyes widened, but he didn't tell Cas to get out of the bed, nor did he do anything else. He just stayed where he was, drawing his lower lip into his mouth almost as if he was shy or flustered. Cas made no secret of watching him do so. He had thought about kissing those lips many times, thought about going to bed with Dean and pulling him close... Cas's body felt alive with energy and he experienced the now familiar pull in his groin that he always got when he thought about Dean like this. Cas had had sex a few times by that point, and he knew exactly what lust and arousal felt like. He felt that for Dean but couldn't say whether Dean felt it for him, and even if he did, Cas had no idea what it would mean for their relationship if they were to act on it. Dean seemed to treat him as a close friend – a brother, even. He had even called Cas a brother a couple of times, though that had been a long time ago. More recently, he'd started saying  _We're family_ , which was altogether far more ambiguous.

Dean's gaze settled on Cas's tousled hair, which he suddenly reached out and ruffled with his hand. Cas smiled but otherwise didn't move, unsure of how to respond. He expected Dean to get up from the bed then, or tell Cas to get up, but he didn't. Dean shifted closer and ran his hand through Cas's hair again, more slowly. “Cas... your hair is awesome.”

“Thank you.” Cas replied, completely deadpan, which made Dean laugh. Cas enjoyed making Dean laugh, even when he didn't understand exactly how he had done it.

Dean settled down on his side facing Cas, looking at him thoughtfully. Cas just turned his head to the side and stared back at Dean, studying him in return. For once, Dean seemed relaxed, even happy. There was the barest hint of a smile on his lips, but what really captivated Cas was his eyes. Dean could express so much with his eyes when he let his guard down; and in that moment he was looking at Cas as if he were looking at the most precious, most beloved person in the world. Cas's breath caught in his throat as he realised this, and Dean seemed to notice, but he didn't look away. Dean blinked and then ran his hand through Cas's hair again.

Before Cas consciously knew what he was doing he was rolling onto his side, bringing himself closer to Dean, resting his hand lightly on the side of Dean's face, thumb at the corner of Dean's mouth, fingertips resting lightly below his ear. Surely  _then_  Dean would pull away from him, and refuse to look at him – but no. Dean was still there. They stayed like that a long time, just looking at each other. Dean glanced down at Cas's lips more than once, but Cas didn't quite have the nerve to close the distance between them. What if he had completely misinterpreted this situation, as he had so many others? What if he did this and it made Dean treat him differently–

Dean's eyes fell closed and he moved forwards, pressing his lips to Cas's in a small, chaste kiss. He drew back and searched Cas's face for a reaction. Cas had no idea what his expression was – but whatever it was it apparently convinced Dean to lean in and do it again.

Cas closed his eyes and lost himself in the kiss, goosebumps rising up all over his skin, his heart pounding in his chest. He could hardly manage to kiss Dean back and process how Dean was kissing him at the same time – there was the insistent press of Dean's tongue at the seam of his lips, though when Cas parted them Dean only teased at first. Cas met Dean's tongue with his own, softly, running it over Dean's lips as if to confirm that he wanted this too, just as much. Dean took firm hold of the back of Cas's head and pulled back to press kisses Cas's lips several times before pushing his tongue forward again. Cas welcomed the deepening of the kiss. Dean tasted of beer and scotch and Cas couldn't get enough of it, meeting Dean's tongue with his own enthusiastically. It was messy and inelegant but Cas didn't care – all he could feel was the terror that any second now Dean was going to change his mind, was going to want to stop, and Cas had to take all he could, had to make the most of this before it was over. Cas could finally let all the passion, all the love, and all the lust he felt for Dean rush out of him in chaos.

Soon, Cas got carried away, little moans and sounds of pleasure spilling out of him because it didn't even occur to him that he might be supposed to stop them. It all just came naturally to him; the human instincts he picked up from being in this human form kicking in – and seeing as Cas still didn't have that much experience of sex, going along with those always seemed to be the best thing to do. And all the times Cas had kissed anyone before, it had been as a precursor to sex; Cas was yet to learn how fulfilling it could be to  _just_  kiss, as he probably should have done with Dean in that moment. But Cas was intoxicated, by alcohol and by Dean, and Dean was responding to Cas in kind, snatching sharp breaths between kisses, slipping one arm under Cas's neck and pulling him closer.

Cas dropped his hand to Dean's hip and pressed forward against him; though there were many layers of fabric between them it still sent an incredible thrill through them both when they made contact; each feeling the bulge in the other's pants. Dean gasped and broke the kiss temporarily, but Cas caught his lips again; he wanted this, wanted it more than he knew how to cope with. Cas was dimly aware that he was being selfish in everything he was doing, that he wasn't taking this slowly enough, that he was being too forward, but Dean's lips and tongue against his own felt too good, Dean's body pressed against his own felt too good, and Cas wanted nothing more in the world than this.

Cas pressed himself forward, slotting one of his legs between Dean's. Dean whimpered softly as Cas pressed his thigh firmly against Dean's crotch, moving in to kiss him again. “Cas,” Dean gasped against Cas's lips, and as he did so it was as if he suddenly realised who he was kissing – Castiel: partner, friend, angel of the lord. Dean's hand dropped to Cas's shoulder and pushed him back. Cas stopped immediately, but Dean still bodily shoved Cas away from him.

Cas rolled onto his back, staring blankly at the ceiling and breathing hard, while Dean got up to sit at the side of the bed. At the time Cas wasn't really sure what had made Dean react like that – his mind too clouded with lust and alcohol to process it properly or to understand the situation from Dean's point of view. Cas reached out, the back of his hand just grazing the back of Dean's shirt, wanting to touch him but not knowing how. In silence, Dean got up from the bed and pulled on his jacket and his boots. Cas curled up on his side, gathering the blanket around him, not having a clue what to say.

“Cas,” Dean's voice was low and gruff as he brought his hand to the door handle. “This never happened. You don't ever talk about this. You understand?”

“No.”

Dean pulled the door open and swiftly left the room, leaving Cas alone.

* * *

Two years on, in April 2014, Cas was alone in their cabin, staring blankly at the wall as he drank the wine that was so maderised it would probably kill someone less resilient. After their mission to get supplies Dean had become withdrawn and spent the previous night in  _his cabin_. It was  _to work_ , Dean claimed, though when Cas asked him what he was doing, he couldn't say. Dean hadn't come back at all the following day, and Cas really had no idea what Dean was doing.

_One step forward and two steps back_. That was another saying the humans had. It seemed apt for him and Dean, and whatever the hell they had between them.

Cas hadn't  _done_  anything – and this time he really was pretty sure of that. Dean was avoiding him for his own reasons, whatever those may be. Cas had learned enough to guess that if Dean distanced himself from Cas, it was because he was about to do something big, something stupid, something that may result in one or both of them getting hurt. But if there was a mission, Cas didn't know of it.

Their supply mission had not been without incident: they ran across a demon who swore up and down that he had seen Crowley die, so any lies Dean might have heard about Crowley living and having the colt could not be true. Dean had been withdrawn since he had heard that. Even though Dean had insisted to Cas several times that Bela had to be lying anyway, Cas realised that, privately, Dean had been hanging onto some fragile thread of hope in Crowley. Hope. In  _Crowley_.

Cas was pretty sure Dean hadn't left the camp, and he was the leader of this place, so he couldn't be that hard to find. There was a part of Cas that was afraid of where he might find Dean – with Risa, with Jane, with someone else – but that wasn't important now. And it wasn't as if Cas was in a position to judge, besides.

He wandered through the camp for some time in all the places he knew Dean wouldn't be, hoping to not run across him,  _procrastinating_. It was the evening and darkness was falling by the time he finally reached the meeting cabin, Dean's cabin, the place Cas had been sure he would find Dean in the end – but he wasn't there. Cas glanced over to his right.  _The Impala_.

Cas took a few steps closer until he heard the low murmuring of what was definitely Dean's voice, and then he stopped. Dean's time with the Impala belonged to him, exclusively, that much had been made clear to Cas. And Cas had not been invited into this; this was something private of Dean's, and they should allow each other privacy. Cas knew all this, but his curiosity overcame him anyway, and his feet took steps forward against his will.

What Cas heard made his blood run cold.

“Michael?” Dean sighed. “So yeah, I know you haven't answered me, like, ever. And it's been months since I bothered with you. But like I say, I'm still here, man. We can end this. I don't know whether you still hear me, or whether you cowardly sons-of-bitches gave up on us and barricaded yourselves in Heaven so tight that now  _you_  can't even get out. I don't know. I don't care. But if this does get through to you, if there's any chance at all of you getting back to Earth, Michael, the answer is 'yes'.”

Of course, there was nothing but silence. The angels were gone.

Cas stalked angrily around the car, his hands shaking, his chest feeling too tight to breathe.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Dean turned to him in some surprise, only to sigh and let his head drop back against the car door. “Prayer is a sign of faith,” Dean quoted Cas's words back at him sarcastically.

“Michael,” Cas spat, his voice trembling from anger, his whole body trembling. “You're praying to  _Michael_. After everything!” Dean only rolled his eyes so Cas snapped suddenly, “You promised me you wouldn't do this again!” Cas was shouting already, but in truth he was barely skimming the surface of his fury. He shook with it, he ached with it, it made him feel sick.

“Michael can ice the Devil,” Dean retorted, getting to his feet, all of which he did with great fatigue and despondency. “That was the prophesy.”

“We tore up the rule book!” Cas shouted with similar weariness. This was an old argument, an ancient argument that they had had  _so many_  times already. Cas didn't know what more he could say, so he began where he usually did, “You and me, we changed destiny, we–”

“We were wrong!” Dean shouted, despairingly. “We were  _wrong_ , Cas. I thought I knew better than the plan laid out for the end of the freaking world, I thought that I was better than all of that. Better than God himself. And you know what, I was wrong!”

“No,” Cas gasped. “If you say yes to Michael, the effects on this planet will be devastating–”

“Have you taken a look at this fucking planet recently! All this, every death from Croatoan, everything Lucifer's done – I could have stopped all of it. This is all on me.” Dean shouted back.

“More people will die if you say 'yes', countless more!”

“Yeah, and if I don't say 'yes', eventually, we'll  _all_  die,” Dean barked. “We'll all die, just slower and bloodier. How is that a win for us?”

“If you say 'yes' to Michael,” Cas reminded him, desperately, “you'll die.”

“So?”

_How am I to argue with that?_

“I'm tired, Cas,” Dean put on hand on the roof of the Impala and leaned on it. “I'm just tired. Of the apocalypse, of fighting who I'm supposed to be.”

“Dean... you are supposed to be  _you_. You can't say 'yes' to Michael, you can't let them win–”

Dean shook his head, exasperated. “You're stubborn, you know that. Too damn stubborn to see when you're wrong. God had a plan – I don't know why this was his plan and I don't care. But the plan was for me to be Michael's vessel – Heaven set up my parents – hell, it's the only reason I exist at all. This was the one thing I had to do right in my whole sorry life, and I fucked it up.”

“No, Dean,” Cas shook his head. “We chose free will. We were right to choose free will – you know the angels, do you really think the tyranny of Heaven over Earth would be free of problems? It wouldn't–”

“And this?” Dean gestured around himself vaguely. “This, with the Croatoan and the demons and the people killing each other for scraps of food – this is what you call a planet free of problems? We should've taken our chances with the angels, Cas, at least Lucifer would be back in the box.”

“You don't know that,” Cas reminded him. “That would only if they won, if Michael won - and there's no guarantee that he would – and that's  _after_  Michael and Lucifer's fight incinerates half the planet-”

“And without him, Lucifer wins anyway,” Dean shouted. “Lucifer already won. Sam played his part – why, I don't know – but I didn't play mine.” 

Cas was quiet, unsure as to what to say. He still saw Dean as his only ally against Heaven, and for Dean to pray to Michael like this, to say 'yes', felt like a terrible betrayal, it tore at Cas's emotions so viscerally that it warped everything else in Cas's mind and he barely knew how to think, nevermind speak. This was what anger was like, true anger, anger that could not be reasoned with or restrained.

“We tried,” Dean forced out, through gritted teeth. “God knows, we've tried. And we've got nowhere. You don't think the colt can even kill Lucifer even if we get it – and that's a big if – and we have no way to find Lucifer either, no way to get close to him...” Dean shook his head. “The while thing is stupid. You've always thought it was stupid.”

“Well I don't think so now,” Cas offered, clinging onto the last scraps of his self-control. “We're gonna do this, Dean. You and me. I promised you I wouldn't give up!”

Dean laughed hollowly, bitterly. “I'm not giving up,” he said coolly. “I'm taking the best decision I can. We've spent four years looking for the stupid fucking colt and you don't even think it's going to work! And you're the best source I have! And you have no faith in this, in me. So why are you still even here, Cas?”

Cas didn't reply, lost for words. He wanted to say  _Because I love you_  but was really too pissed with Dean to be saying that to him just at that moment.

Dean answered for him. “Because you've got nowhere else to go. This isn't about Lucifer, or the colt, me, or you, you've just got no one and nothing else.”

“No, Dean, I...”

“Do you stay here just to torment me, or what?” Dean went on, becoming increasingly fraught and directing his anger at Cas. “Just to remind me, day after miserable day that I had– that you were–”

“You want to talk about what I was, Dean?”

“No–”

“That I was an angel,” Cas's voice was shaking. “That I was raw power and intent – a lightning storm barely contained in an ad salesman from Illinois, that I was a part of the most fantastic and powerful army of the universe. And that now, now I'm...” Cas trailed off, looking down at his body, wrapped in faded jeans and a grubby shirt three sizes too big for him. Cas clenched his jaw and breathed in sharply through his nose before he finally snapped, “I lost everything for you!” he shouted. “Everything! Heaven! My family! I gave it all up – for you!”

“Well that was your own damn mistake,” Dean shouted back. “I never asked for  _anything_  from you apart from your help!”

“You didn't have to  _ask_!” Cas replied. “I gave it! I gave everything I had for you – and more. And yet–” Cas threw his arms wide, gesturing to the camp around them. “Here I am! I'm still at  _here_ , Dean. And this is what you give to me?!”

“Oh, and a lot of good you are to me now,” Dean snapped at him, clearly losing control of his own temper, his hands balled into fists. “All you do is disagree with me and hold me back from the one thing that could get us out of this damn mess – which is Michael. Because,” he gestured to Cas, “what the hell are you gonna do? Without your power? Fuck all!”

Cas lurched forward as if to punch Dean or shove him up against the car, he wanted to scream that he wasn't useless, he wasn't to prove that he still had strength and that he still had power with an atavistic demonstration of brute physical force – and oh how sickeningly  _satisfying_  that would be in the basest of ways – but Dean backed away from him and went on, “It's not my fault you made the wrong choice. You made your choice, Cas; that's on you. Not me. I'm just trying to undo what I can–”

“It was my first choice,” Cas spat, his fists clenched so tight that his nails dug into his palms. By this point his anger had overwhelmed him and he hardly knew what he was saying. He knew, somewhere, that he didn't mean it, that he was just lashing out, but he couldn't stop the words nonetheless. “My first and only choice, choosing  _you_  over Heaven, over everything I had known for millions of years. I fell in love with you and I chose  _you_!”

“I'm not responsible for you!” Dean retorted, exasperatedly. “I never have been, I never wanted you–”

“You never wanted me?”

“No– That's not what I meant–”

“That explains a lot.”

“I never wanted you to fall,” Dean insisted, even though Cas was pretty much past listening. “I did not do this, Cas, you did this. This is free will! You have to live with your own decisions, not just the good ones, the bad ones too!”

“Live with it?” Cas replied. “The way  _you_  live with  _your_  decisions?”

“Oh stop making this about me–”

“Oh I'm sorry Dean,” Cas laughed a little manically, “I'm sorry, I'm just so used to  _everything_  being about you –  _your_  daddy issues,  _your_  self-esteem issues,  _your_  issues with your brother – I guess I just don't know how else to talk to you!”

“Don't you bring Sam into this–”

“Why?” Cas goaded him. “Because you let him go? Because  _you_  can't live with  _your_  decision, because you abandoned him when he needed you most and that pushed little Sammy straight into the arms of Lucifer?”

Dean's fist connected with Cas's face and the next thing Cas knew, he was lying on the ground staring dazedly up at the sky. Dean appeared above him and hit him again,  _hard_ , before wrapping his hand tight around Cas's throat to hold him down. Cas made to hit him back through his confusion, but Dean avoided the blow easily, so Cas punched him in the side. Dean grunted and moved slightly with the impact, but his determination and composure seemed unaffected and Cas was faintly embarrassed at not being able to punch harder. Dean leaned in close, but when their eyes met, whatever he had meant to say seemed to escape him. Cas kept still as Dean just stared at him for a long moment, not with anger, but with what could only be described as overwhelming disappointment. “Fuck you,” Dean spat, before getting up and stalking away.

Conscious of the few people that had gathered staring at him, as quickly as he could, Cas pushed himself up onto his elbows, and then to one side. His head span and he spat out some blood before pushing himself to his knees. He didn't want anyone to help him, but at the same time he  _really_  didn't want to try and get up by himself only to fail.

As soon as Cas was on his feet Chuck appeared at his side, holding him around the waist as Cas instinctively put an arm over his shoulders for support. “Come on, Cas,” Chuck said sympathetically, making for Cas's cabin.

Cas felt dizzy and somewhat disoriented, not really able to focus on anything that was going on around him. He broke into a crooked smile that made his face hurt as the muscles moved: he had deserved that. He was perversely glad that Dean had hit him. The things he'd said, the way he'd said it – and all to Dean. It wasn't Dean's fault, it wasn't Dean Cas was angry with. He was angry and the other angels, at Lucifer, at God, at everything that had happened. But not truly Dean.

Once Cas was back in his cabin, Chuck helped him to sit down on the bed. “Okay... uh... water. I should get you some water. And alcohol.”

“Sounds good,” Cas replied foggily, swaying where he sat. “What are we drinking to?”

Chuck laughed nervously. “I meant for your face. You're bleeding.”

“Oh,” Cas touched the left side of his face, and the tips of his fingers came away smeared red.  _If the other angels could see me now_.

It occurred to Cas that pain and misery were underrated pleasures. Such feelings, all feelings, were life-affirmingly human to Cas, and they still held their fascination. Cas's life being what it was, he had become something of a connoisseur of pain, and Cas rather thought that being punched in the face by the love of one's life was definitely one of the most compelling instances of pain he had ever experienced.

Chuck returned with a bowl of water and a cloth, and Cas very suddenly became aware of his reality again, and decided that such self-indulgent ennui was not his style at all and he needed to do something to solve the problem.

When he tried to leave, however, Chuck held him back and forced him to sit down and be taken care of. Cas folded his arms and huffed through his nose.

Chuck finally raised the cloth to Cas's face, and Cas found himself suddenly saying, “I never was like the other angels, was I Chuck?” Chuck looked at him askance and Cas blinked a few times, unsure of why he'd said that. “Not that you would know...”

Chuck raised the cloth to Cas's face and went to touch him, but he hesitated. “Uh, sorry, if this hurts, I don't really do this stuff much, if I can avoid it...” Chuck trailed off as he looked off somewhere to his side. Cas turned and saw Azaria there. He was relieved and appalled all at once.

She said nothing, just came over and replaced Chuck, wiping the dirt and blood off Cas's face until he was cleaned up. Cas realised as she did it where the cuts would have come from: the ring on Dean's hand, the ring Cas gave him. He chuckled to himself, sure that there was great irony in that somewhere.

“This is going to sting,” Azaria said, a split second before she pressed a cloth covered in alcohol to his face. Cas flinched and cried out, but she held the other side of his head to keep him still. Once over the initial shock, Cas forced himself to relax under the constant pressure of Azaria's hands as she tried to stop the bleeding.

“Okay,” she murmured, pulling the cloth away. “You don't need stitches. I'd put some glue on there if I had any – but I'll just put a bandage over it, okay? You need to leave it alone, not mess with it...”

“I'm not a child,” Cas replied, with a frown. He felt dizzy and disoriented, as if everything around him was on the other side of a screen, as if reality was playing at the wrong speed. “I need to lie down.”

“In a minute,” Azaria made him wait while she stuck a bandage to the side of his face, over his cheekbone. “Don't lie on your left,” she warned him. “Unless you want it to hurt and bleed more.”

Cas fell back on the bed, and when he did so, he realised that Chuck hadn't gone; he stood at the end of the bed in silent observance.

“You gonna be okay, Cas?”

“Sure,” Cas replied, hazily. “It's not like it's the first time I've been punched in the face.”

A moment of silence passed, in which Azaria and Chuck looked at each other. Azaria said softly, “I don't think that's what he meant.”

“Oh,” Cas closed his eyes. “You mean my  _feelings_ , I suppose. Feelings I'm not supposed to be able to have.”  _And_ , Cas thought to himself,  _Dean is the only person I've ever talked about my feelings with in any meaningful detail before_.

Chuck cleared his throat. “I uh, couldn't help overhear, you and Dean. I also kind of... saw it in a vision a few days ago.”

“And you didn't warn me,” Cas's accusing tone was tempered by sarcasm. “Thank you. I was happier not knowing that was coming.”

Chuck shrugged. “I don't know when these things are going to happen anyway – like when I saw that demon who possessed Tammy. That was way further in the future than I realised. So I didn't really know when the hell you and Dean were gonna fight... He'll come around,” Chuck told Cas, sitting down on the end of the bed and twisting himself round at an awkward angle. “You and him... I still believe you're going to do it. To stop Lucifer.”

“Thanks for your faith,” Cas replied, dryly. He sighed and stared up at the ceiling, which swam in and out of focus. “It's ironic, really, that I'm apparently so central to this story,” Cas began. “When I was an observer for so long. I told Anna what I saw, before she fell. Then Uriel, before he conspired against Heaven.” Cas stopped and laughed. “Power corrupts, apparently. Something humans figured out that angels didn't; angels don't believe themselves corruptible, because everything an angel does is of Heaven, and therefore of God, and therefore  _right_. But there is no right and wrong. Only choices, for better and for worse. Dean made his choice, I made mine. The one thing you can't do is go back and change it.” Cas suddenly pushed himself onto his elbows. “I need to explain that to Dean. That's what I wanted to say, not the things I said...”

“Not right now, Cas,” Azaria pushed his shoulder and got him to lie down. “Tomorrow, maybe. Let you both calm down and get your thoughts together.”

“I have a headache,” Cas grumbled. “If I forget what I said, will you remember it for me?”

“I'll try,” Azaria laughed. She then went on, delicately, “you're not making a huge amount of sense. Were you drinking, before this?”

Cas frowned at her. “No.”

“No?” She seemed surprised. “Do you mean no, or  _no more than usual_?”

“I mean  _no_ ,” Cas insisted, irascibly. She just looked at him and raised her eyebrows in a particular way that she had; when she knew that he was lying to her. “Alright, maybe, I was...”

Azaria held up her hands and then went to wipe some dirt that she had missed off Cas's neck, but Cas pushed her away. “I'm a warrior of God, don't do that to me...”

Azaria held up her hands and let go of him. “Fine, fine...”

“I know I'm not much of a soldier now,”

“I disagree,” Azaria said wryly, folding her arms. “You're a lot like all the other soldiers I know.”

Cas smiled weakly. “I uh, I was only supposed to observe...” Cas gazed up at the ceiling, which swam in and out of focus. “That was my job, that was who I was. I fought against demons, but where the humans were concerned I just watched them. I reported what I saw to Anna, to Uriel, to whomever asked. And for a long time I was content,” Cas went on, aware that it was somewhat strange for him to confess all this now, when his former life in Heaven barely seemed to matter anymore. “But I think it was because I was an observer, not a participant, that I could see more clearly. Over the centuries, the millennia, I privately held onto my doubts, you know. I saw what humans did and I saw what the other angels did. I started to wonder about whether the angels were always right.

“Perhaps they could tell,” Cas mused, tucking his arm behind his head to prop himself up a little. Chuck was watching him intently with a sympathetic but otherwise neutral expression. Cas looked away from him and went on, still not sure why he was saying this, why he seemed to be saying it to Chuck specifically. “Because recently – and by  _recently_  I mean since about 4,000 years ago – the other angels changed my role in the garrison. They gave me tasks to do, promoted me, gave me more power. I started to do more, on Earth, taking human vessels a few times, fighting demons, and I was good at it. And then...” Cas closed his eyes. “And that culminated in them sending me among the angels who went to Hell to rescue Dean. Perhaps I was unprepared. I was so old and yet so young at the same time, so inexperienced in so much. It changed me – not just Dean, the whole thing changed me. Acquiring a vessel for the first time in 2,000 years was...” Cas trailed off. “I think I've deviated from the topic.”

Chuck smiled. “Cas,” he said gently, “it's okay.”

_It's okay_. Cas was dimly aware that it was a curious thing for Chuck to say. “So now I wonder,” Cas said softly, “Whether I had it right in the first place. Whether I should keep myself aside from this whole mess, whether I should just observe. Or whether that role of mine was only ever temporary, only preparation for this. Perhaps I observed for all that time to be objective, to formulate my doubts, and then joined in the story myself better able to understand it than many of the others who had been more closely involved. Do you think, Chuck, that maybe that was God's plan all along?”

Chuck cast his eyes down to the floor and was silent for a long moment. “This...” he said vaguely. “All of this, that's going on now. I don't think this part was in God's plan.”

“You're a writer,” Cas said, sounding more annoyed somehow than he could entirely account for, “How do you think this story is supposed to end?”

Chuck got up and made to leave. “Cas, I... I don't know.”

“I never thought I was that important to Heaven,” Cas confessed. “Before this, I thought that I was just another soldier, probably expendable. And I didn't mind. I accepted that. Because I always thought that God had a plan, and I might have had my doubts about the other angels, but I always used to have faith in God. And now I've faced insurmountable odds countless times, I've escaped death when I shouldn't have, I've even died and been resurrected, and I just want to know – why do I keep living, why does God always bring me back at the centre of the narrative when I've already demonstrably failed time and time again? What was it all  _for?!_ ”

“Cas,” Chuck held up his hands, “I'm just gonna go, okay? I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Cas spat at him, looking away. He didn't know why he suddenly felt such fury as he did, only that for some reason it translated directly into wanting Chuck to get away from him, as if this were somehow his fault.

Azaria, who had been silent all the way through this conversation, very tentatively came and sat on the side of the bed. Cas closed his eyes and a moment passed in silence before she took hold of his hand. Still, she did not say anything, did not try to reason with him because Cas was clearly in no condition to be reasoned with. She just sat with him and held his hand, and Cas was eternally grateful to her for that.

“I'm sorry,” Cas mumbled quietly, finally looking at her. “For all that.”

“We all ask ourselves these questions, Cas,” she reassured him. Her voice was so light and soothing and she was saying so precisely what he needed to hear that Cas suspected that he was dreaming. She held his hand a little tighter. “Everyone wonders what they're doing here – when you look around and how little we have left of a planet you have to wonder. And you're not the only person with survivor's guilt, with unresolved emotions about the past, the things you've done. I have it too. When my family ran away, and I was too stubborn to go with them... but you already know my story.” Cas nodded; Azaria had spoken to him at length about what had happened to her.

“We both used to be part of something,” Azaria told him. “And now we're not. It's always hard to take that.” Cas closed his eyes and appreciated the fact that Azaria had said it was hard to  _take_. She didn't say  _accept_  because Cas could never accept it, she didn't even say  _deal with_ , because there was no way of dealing with it either. Cas just  _took_  it, took what the universe dealt to him and tried to make the best of it, fed up as he was of being so passive in everything. 

“I was part of something,” Cas said slowly, “But...”

“But?”

“But I was... I don't know. I was an outsider. I was an outsider there, I'm an outsider here... I think I'm just an outsider.”

“I think you have a concussion,” Azaria said, gently, with an air of finality. “So just lie down and rest a while.”

Cas laughed, just a little chuckle at first, before he started to laugh more and more. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, dimly aware of how uncomfortable he was probably making her, not caring. “Concussion,” he repeated, with a broken smile. “I'm an angel, and I have a concussion. Please go away.” 


	11. Dog Days are Over

Making up with Dean was not as easy as Cas had hoped.

Dean came by the cabin the following day, very briefly, to collect some of his things. Cas tried to talk to him, but was ignored, so went straight to the point.

“I'm sorry.”

“Save it,” Dean barked in return.

“I really am. I didn't mean the things I said about you,” Cas persisted, trying to keep his cool as Dean finished stuffing his things into a bag and slung it over his shoulder.

Dean turned to him, face hardened as if he was trying to defend himself from the apology. “You can say what you want about me,” he growled, “about how weak I am for saying 'yes' to Michael, how stupid the plan with the colt is – God knows how many times we've had those arguments over the years. And I can let go of all that, because that's about me, and I am ninety percent crap – I know that. But I can't let go of the rest – because that was about Sam.”

_You pushed little Sammy straight into the arms of Lucifer_. Cas cringed at the memory. “I was angry. I was trying to hurt you. I didn't mean that.” 

“You  _know_ ,” Dean said quickly, “that that is one line you  _do not cross_  with me, Cas. And you crossed it.” Dean wrenched open the door. “I'm gonna stay the fuck away from you, and you're gonna stay the fuck away from me. That's it. We're done.”

And with that, Dean left.

Several days passed after that.

No matter how much Cas wanted to apologise (again), he still wanted Dean to apologise to him too, for praying to Michael, but Dean showed no signs of doing this. Cas heard, from various sources (who all cited Risa as the source of their information), that Dean considered Cas's reaction to whole Michael situation grossly disproportionate and wasn't about was about to apologise for trying to do something to put an end to the apocalypse.

Most of the rest of the camp didn't fully understand the situation, and all they gathered was that Dean had prayed to another angel called Michael to ask for help, and this had led Cas to shout at him until they came to blows over it. It was perceived as jealousy and spite on Cas's part. Even those who sympathised with Cas thought that the issue was that Dean had prayed to an angel who still had angel powers, while Cas did not have his angel powers anymore, and that was why Cas was so upset – and it occurred to Cas that there may well be a grain of truth to that even though the real issue was something far larger – like  _burning half the planet_ , larger. All in all, the entire situation pushed Cas more and more on the defensive, and he retreated back into himself, as explaining everything to everyone seemed a much harder task than simply avoiding them, and in this defensive mood Cas waited for Dean to come to him, which Dean didn't seem inclined to do after what Cas had said about Sam. So it was, he and Dean seemed to not be  _together_ , anymore.

Cas generally enjoyed spending time alone, and for the first couple of days he tried to convince himself that he was enjoying this. But he wasn't. Not where he was, with the way things were. No matter how much one likes being alone, being alone in the very place one is accustomed to sharing with someone else is acutely painful and upsetting. In the cabin they once shared, Cas now felt as though he were sharing the space with the caustic presence of Dean's very absence; the  _lack_  of Dean's clothes around the place, the  _lack_  of the beers he used to drink, the empty space beside Cas on the bed. All of those empty spaces had a noxious and unsettling life of their own and made for unpleasant and interminable company, and Cas found himself compelled to fill all those empty places up with other things to distract himself from the pain of it.

On most evenings, he invited Azaria around. It had actually been several months since he had slept with her but it was easy to return to it; she was familiar enough but also new and exciting enough. She was a distraction. She deserved better, Cas knew, but she didn't seem to mind. She seemed to know that she was distraction, a stand in for someone else, and yet she didn't seem to mind. When Cas told her that she was free to bring her friend Sarah round, she did so. Sarah came with her boyfriend, which Cas had no objection to – and one thing led to another and they all pretended as if that was not the entire purpose of their meeting to begin with, though it was. Of course it was. They all needed distraction for one reason or another and while his own reasons were obvious to everyone, Cas wasn't inclined to ruminate too much on other people's reasons for that need. This was just the fantasy, wasn't it? Rampant and unrestrained hedonism – this was freedom.

Except it wasn't. It was a performance, a circus, and therefore a bizarre kind of prison in itself in which Cas felt like he had no true freedom at all. He didn't have the freedom to be himself, and he didn't, really, have the freedom to enjoy it. Too many expectations were laid on him, too much attention, too many other concepts utterly extraneous to the business of actually having any kind of enjoyable sex. Cas realised that, basically, he infinitely preferred  _making love_  to  _having sex_.

People seemed excessively interested in the idea of sleeping with Castiel. Maybe because he used to be an angel they imagined that something extraordinary or otherworldly was going to happen – but it didn't. It was base and earthly in every way, and for Cas, that was actually the whole damn point. He invited Jane round, too, but she refused. As did Allison, and Allison actually kind of liked him. That took Cas's narcissism down a peg or two.

Cas told everyone he thought could possibly be interested that for some time soon he planned something different. He hoped everyone would hear about it, purely to be sure that Dean would hear about it, and had some notion of making Dean jealous or desperate to come back to Cas – even though Cas was fully aware of the lack of logic in thinking that sleeping with other people made him more attractive as a partner. It was stupid, but Cas didn't care. It felt good to lash out, satisfying in the basest of ways, so he kept doing it. He wanted to tell his partners all about how, together, they could experience something that would be transcendent and would open the door to a higher level of perception which would involve drugs and a  _physical connection_. Cas had never been a good liar.

Before he got the chance to see how well that angle worked, though, a kid arrived at the camp. His name was Ollie, a boy of 17, and he came alone, ragged and exhausted and begging for help to go back and save his family and friends. Dean promptly locked him up alone in quarantine for a few hours until they knew he was clean of Croatoan.

Then, Dean convened a meeting. He and Cas could still talk about the camp and about their strategies in clipped tones while avoiding eye-contact or being left alone together. It was almost the same as before, except Cas would find himself occasionally taking swipes at Dean without even consciously meaning to do it, and Dean would roll his eyes and shoot down Cas's suggestions. They would  _bicker_ , like a married couple. Dean still wore his ring, and Cas still wore his as well. But even that action had a weirdly passive-aggressive tone to it, as if to say,  _See,_ I _still care – do you?_

After a typically terse conversation that made the few others present feel awkward, it was decided that Cas would lead a small group of people back out to the town where the kid, Ollie, was from, and they would go rescue his family. Dean, apparently, was waiting on some sort of communication from the army, and thus needed to remain at the camp.

Azaria was due to go, as apparently there were a number of injured people, as well as a couple with serious medical conditions who needed the attention of a doctor. Even though Azaria never was a doctor, by all accounts she was just about as good as one, and she had the practical skills and knowledge to care for people about as well as they could possibly be cared for in a post-apocalyptic  _post-hospital_  world anyway.

Cas went to the medical cabin to explain the nature of the mission to her. As he crossed the camp, a stiff, cold breeze was whipping up, as if a storm was coming. In the cabin, Azaria was sat in a wheelchair with a small child on her lap, a boy of about three, who was asleep. “Don't mind him,” she assured Cas. “We can talk. He had an infection that sent him deaf. I just hold him so he knows I'm still here.” The wheelchair, it turned out, was just so that Azaria could still move around the cabin and get things done without disturbing the boy.

Cas explained what they planned to do, and why it might be a good idea for her to come along. She seemed curiously unfazed by the whole idea, which made Cas re-iterate the potential danger. “Cas,” she insisted. “I think sometimes you forget I worked in a hospital before this. A  _hospital_  – where people would bring in their relatives infected with Croatoan and push them at us, screaming at us to cure the super-humanly strong person who was running around trying to convert everyone they could and kill the rest. I'm not new to this. This doesn't sound like anything I can't handle.”

“Right.” Cas raised his eyebrows and nodded, beginning to see her in a different light. “I need to go and get the others ready. So I'll come back for you in about an hour?”

“Alrighty,” called Azaria, as she busied herself getting supplies together.

* * *

The mission ran smoothly enough, initially. When Ollie said he was from a small town, he wasn't kidding. Before Croatoan the place couldn't have had a population of more than 500, and the main street that ran through the centre of the place was essentially the only road that connected it to anywhere else. As such, they had to be careful not to get trapped in the place. Matt and Yaeger stayed in the Jeep by the entrance to the town, scanning the road behind and ahead, while Cas and Azaria drove with Ollie in a truck into the centre of the town; the church parking lot.

“Hiding from demons in a church,” said Azaria. “Smart. Demons can't walk on hallowed ground, right?”

“Indeed. Perhaps someone here knows about demons,” Cas mused.  _Or perhaps they think their god will protect them_. If that was so, Cas felt sorry for them.

They knocked, and a woman opened the door and was reluctant to let them inside, in case they were croats. There was no easy way to disprove this, so once inside the church, they kept their distance from the gathered survivors while they spoke, Cas explaining where he was taking them, and who he was. He was tempted to tell them that he was an angel, but thought that it would probably only complicate matters, and besides, he  _was_  an angel – past tense. He wasn't really an angel anymore.

Most of the people were easy enough to convince. One of the women, however, was reluctant. She was wearing sunglasses despite their being indoors, and had long, curly brown hair. Cas felt that they had met, but not here...

A young girl held out a hand to her, “Pamela, come on, we're leaving.”

“No,” Pamela backed away. “No way in hell.”

Realisation hit Cas hard: this was the psychic who had tried to contact him after Dean was raised from Hell, and despite Cas's warnings she had demanded to see his true face... which had burned her eyes out. Cas took a step towards her, “Pamela?”

“It's you!” She shouted. “I knew it! I won't go anywhere with you, Castiel!”

“Please, Pamela, it's okay.” He tried to reassure her and she continued to be wary of him for a moment, before calming down when Azaria came back to vouch for Cas, and ask her what was wrong.

“Oh, no big deal,” Pamela replied sarcastically, “except that this is the guy who burned out my eyes.”

“It was an accident,” Cas said quickly, to try and quell the fearful looks all the survivors were now giving him. “I did try to warn you.”

Pamela laughed. “Yeah, well, I never could resist a keep-out sign. You could have told me exactly what would happen instead of being vague.  _Allergic to straight answers_ , that's how Dean used to describe you.”

“I'm sorry,” Cas assured her.

“Do you still know Dean?”

Cas glanced away and hesitated before answering, “Yes. I know Dean.”

It was clear that Pamela took this to mean something, but she didn't hazard an opinion as to what that was.

He took a step closer, which made her instinctively recoil, but she overcame it and agreed to go with them.

“You should know,” she said softly to him as the others went ahead, “there have been demons here. Lots of them.”

“Doing what?”

“I don't know,” she replied. “Something about hiding something.”

“Wait,” Cas stopped and took hold of her shoulder, which of course caused her to flinch, but nothing else. “The colt?”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“No...” Cas sighed.

“But it was a big deal. They mentioned Dean, and how they needed to move something, change their plans – I don't know. They argued about what to do, I remember that. I could sense the conflict between them, the uncertainty, the fear... but without communicating with them directly, I can't say what they were talking about.”

“That's fine,” Cas said slowly. “That's very helpful.”

“Well good, glad I could help,” Pamela replied with a note of sarcasm.

“Are there any here now?”

“Two,” she said grimly. “They're staying here as guards, or something. Not guards for us – they don't give a crap about us one way or the other, as far as I can tell.”

Cas took a deep breath as they stepped out of the church. “I have to find them. Do you know their location?”

Pamela scoffed. “I don't have an  _address_ , if that's what you mean. And if I try to hone in on them they'll feel it coming, and they'll attack, or run. With the wide open country all around this place, once they take flight, I wouldn't count on catching up.”

“Okay,” Cas took her out to the car, where she sat with the rest of the passengers. Some of the others were standing around the car and would walk until they reached Yaeger and Matt, and then they would fill up that car too.

It was only a few moments before Cas stopped the car, pulling up alongside the other one. He opened the driver's window to lean across and speak to Yaeger.

“All clear?” Yaeger asked from his position in the back seat, before he opened the door and stepped out, to guide the civilians to get into the cars.

“Yeah. Listen,” Cas added on quickly as Matt started the engine. “Apparently there are demons here who might know something about the colt.” Azaria touched him on the arm and said his name, but Cas ignored her. “A couple of us should stay.”

Yaeger glanced between the cars and the people climbing into his vehicle. “We need to get all these people out of here.”

“I know,” Cas replied.

Yaeger sucked in air through his teeth. “There's only four of us. No one should go after demons alone – but we definitely want more than one of us to each car to defend these guys.”

“It shouldn't take too long–”

“Hey,” Matt interrupted Cas. “Looking for the colt or looking for demons is a regular Tuesday afternoon for us. These people – they need somewhere safe to stay. We got a place, so we should take 'em there. We'll tell Dean about it, he'll know what to do.”

Cas bristled. “ _I_  know what to do.” Cas opened the door of the car and got out. Yaeger tried to reason with him, but Cas wasn't in much of a mood for listening to him.

“We're staying,” Cas declared. “Two of us can stay here as guards, the other two will track down these demons, and then we'll be on our way. Azaria,” he looked back into the car to her. “You should stay with these people in case they need medical attention. Matt, Yaeger,” he turned to the other car, “decide between yourselves.”

A few moments passed, in which Cas pulled out a shotgun from the trunk, a few salt rounds, some regular ammo for croats.

_We take the fight to them_ , that was what Dean had said when Cas had found himself spending increasing amounts of time with Dean in 2009 and 2010.  _We do this our way, you and me, and we kick it in the ass just like we always do_. They had spent too long since then at the mercy of external forces, too long passively waiting or this or that to happen, and Cas wanted to rectify that.  _We take the fight to them_.

Azaria came round from the other side of their car and suddenly wrapped her arms around him. “What are you doing?” Cas asked.

“I believe it's called a hug.” She kept her arms around his waist and looked up at him, sadly. “Good luck, Cas. I know I won't convince you to come with us. You're too stubborn.” She pulled him in for a kiss, which it seemed rude to spurn, and then after that she disappeared and got back in her car.

Not seeing Matt or Yaeger, Cas walked around to the driver's side of the other vehicle, to see that all the civilians were inside it. Matt seemed to have convinced Yaeger to get in the back with the civilians, while he remained in the driving seat, starting the engine. “Do I have to order one of you?” Cas frowned.

“I don't take  _orders_  from you,” Matt replied, coolly. “Dean – sure – generally. But you – no way.”

Cas scowled. “Get out of the car. You're staying.”

Matt just scoffed and put the car into gear.

“Cas,” Yaeger called to him from the back, “we've done what we came out here to do. Come on, man, we gotta get back to camp.”

Cas ran a hand through his hair. “Killing the devil is what we've got to do. If the demons have changed their plans about the colt and they slip it right past me–”

“We can come back,” Matt replied, dismissively.

“The trail will be probably cold by then, the demons will move on,” Cas retorted. “We're staying. We're talking about our endgame here. We're staying out.”

Matt called across to Azaria and got her to start driving. Then, the other car started to move, and Cas had to walk to keep up with it.

_Shit._

“Matt!” Yaeger called from the back. “What the fuck are you doing – did you put the  _child locks_  on?!”

“Last chance,” Matt called to him from the window, and Cas had to run to keep up. “'Cause we  _will_  go without you,” Matt shouted, “unless you tell us to stop because you're coming with!”

“Fuck you!” Cas shouted in return, striking the car with the side of his hand as it sped away from him.

Cas's run slowed to a walk, as from the middle of the deserted road he watched both trucks trundle away from him, shrinking into the distance.

It began to drizzle.

“Dammit,” Cas sighed, heavily. “Fucking humans,” he muttered under his breath – why couldn't people just do as he told them?

He kicked a stone off to the side of the road in anger, and then became acutely aware of just how alone he was; stood in the middle of the street with no one around for miles, except a couple of demons that he should probably look out for.

“Fuck,” Cas said again, turning around and trudging back into the town – seeing as he was out there now he might as well get on and do what he said he was going to do: hunt the demons. Find the colt. Save the world. 

He checked he had everything; guns, ammunition, the demon-killing blade. While checking one of his pockets, he felt a neatly folded up piece of paper. He stopped walking, pulled it out and carefully unfolded it, to find a hastily scribble note. 

_Castiel,_  
 _We're sorry, we just can't do this. I have to put these people first. There are cars in the town, please steal one and follow us back to the camp.  
_ _Love, Azaria_

Cas screwed up the piece of paper and threw it away. 


	12. Hammer to Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I wanted to post this chapter a lot sooner but I've had the flu. Getting better now though.

 

Tracking down demons wasn't too hard for Cas. He could sense their presence, sense the disturbance they made in the electrical and magnetic fields of the planet; the very  _wrongness_  of them being above ground at all, how it distorted the fabric of the spiritual plane to have the dead walk on Earth again, how the corruption of the pit emanated out from them like the stench of rotting flesh. It was almost like Cas could smell them, but with a sense that was not  _smell_  at all, and by prowling around at random for a while, he could eventually triangulate their location.

In the end, he saw them: standing atop the roof of two-storey brick building which was a hardware store - which gave them a reasonable vantage point in a town of low buildings, and they were looking east, along the road. The store, of course, had been looted long ago, and shards of broken glass and discarded plastic packaging littered the street, skittering round in circles in the wind. Above, the sky darkened and there came an ominous rumble of thunder somewhere far off in the distance.

Cas crept to an alley by the side of the building, where he was fortunate enough to happen upon a discarded baseball bat which may come in useful. He took it and climbed the fire escape to get to them, doing so as quietly as possible until he could peer over the edge of the rooftop and see them without them knowing that he was there.

The demons were paying very little attention to their surroundings – the town was already deserted and they were clearly waiting for something. They were talking, though they were about twenty-five feet away and the crosswinds distorted their voices, blowing their words away. They stood side by side-by-side, leaning over the edge of the roof. Cas took out the demon-killing knife, holding it tightly in his hand. The danger here was that if he threw the knife at one and it fell forward off the top of the building, it would leave him effectively unarmed.

That was when Cas hit on an idea.

He sat down on the step of the fire escape and made his preparations, loading a pistol with a long barrel for better accuracy. Realistically, he would probably only get one shot at this, and that shot wasn't even going to kill the demon concerned.

As ready as he supposed he was ever going to be, Cas climbed back to the very top of the fire escape, and onto the roof. The wind had picked up and was howling and whistling, which kept the demons from hearing his quiet approach, though he did pick up snippets of their conversation. There was an air-conditioning outlet on the roof that Cas could hide behind, not far from the demons, less than ten feet. If they knew he was there, they gave no indication.

Cas knew he had to choose one to kill outright, and one to interrogate, and he had already decided. One appeared to be subordinate to the other – and as the subordinate he would probably know less. Cas took out the demon-killing knife and gripped it firmly in his right hand, the revolver in his left. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves.

He stood up quickly and threw the demon-killing knife first, where it hit the subordinate demon in the centre of its back. Sure enough, he fell forward, toppling over the edge of the roof, presumably dead. The other demon turned, but Cas fired at him with the pistol, and hit him in the centre of the forehead - and all of this happened within a second. 

The demon laughed at him as Cas moved closer. The demon grinned and threw his head back, opening his mouth – but he could not smoke out. The demon closed his mouth, and Cas took advantage of his bewilderment to finish his attack. He swung the baseball bat, and with all his strength he struck it at the centre of the demon's chest. The demon fell back with the force, toppling over the side of the roof and falling to the street below. Cas ran and looked over the edge to see him lying there, attempting to move. What Cas had done to him would kill any normal human outright, but the demon was merely injured, but also trapped where he was.

Nevertheless, Cas didn't want to take his eyes off them or waste any time, so went to the corner and held onto the gutter to climb down the side of the building, flakes of rust and white paint coming off under his hands, the soles of his boots struggling for purchase against the brick wall.

A shot rang out and struck Cas in the right shoulder. He swore and let go of the gutter, falling the rest of the way to the ground, landing on his back with a thud which winded him severely. He fired at the demon, hitting him in the arm and making him drop the gun.

“Goddammit,” Cas heard the demon mutter, while Cas rolled over and crawled towards him. He pulled the demon-killing knife out of the back of the other, already dead, demon, and approached the other one, who was lying on his back on the ground, his gun now out of reach, off to the side.

“Why am I stuck?!” The demon demanded of Cas.

Cas grinned, crouching down and using his left arm to pull the front of the demon's shirt to get him to sit. “Devil's trap. Carved into the bullet – the bullet currently embedded in your skull.”

The demon looked utterly appalled by this, and Cas could tell that it realised the seriousness of its situation.

“Now,” Cas leaned in, trying to ignore the pain in his own shoulder and the warm trickle of blood making its way down his back, and growled, “Where is it?”

“I don't know what–”

“Don't waste my time!” Cas shouted. “The colt! Where is the colt?”

The demon started to laugh, his ruined body shaking with it. “I don't know.”

“Where is it?!” Cas repeated, shouting this time.

"We're  _decoys,_ " the demon explained, laughing. "Nothing's coming here and we don't even know what's really going on. And even if that weren't so, say you got the colt,” the demon mused, remaining surprisingly calm. “Then what? Huh? You just going to stroll right on up to the devil and shoot him?”

“That's the plan.”

The demon laughed again. “That is the shittiest plan to end all shitty plans. And where is the devil? You couldn't find your own god, Castiel, what makes you think you can find mine?”

Cas froze at the sound of the demon saying his name; he hadn't realised that anyone would recognise him.

The demon smirked. “I can't get you the colt.”

“Then I'll kill you,” Cas snapped.

“But I can get you the devil.” That got Cas's attention, and he narrowed his eyes and listened as the demon went on. “I can give you a name. The name of a demon in Lucifer's entourage. You find him, you find Lucifer.”

“Why should I believe you?” Cas spat. “If Lucifer's your god, why would you betray him?”

The demon laughed again. “It's a trap, Castiel. You're useless. Dean won't kill Sam. Lucifer, in the body of Sam, will snap the necks of both his brothers.” Cas crouched there in silence while the demon continued to smirk up at him. “I want you to find Lucifer, so that Lucifer can end you.”

Cas's hand flew to the demon's hair, and he yanked his head back and pressed the blade hard against his throat. “Then why don't  _you_  tell me where he is?”

“If I knew, I would,” the demon grinned. “I would. But I can't. I'll give you a name of someone who can, and you get that bullet out of me and let me smoke out. Do we have a deal?”

Cas stared into his eyes for a long time, and finally spat, “Fine.”

“Duane.” The demon said confidently. “I hear you know Meg, well, she knows him. Duane knows where Lucifer is, hell, he might even throw in knowing where the colt is for free too. Find him, if that's really what you want to do.”

Cas nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you.”

“You believe me?”

“I do.”

“So, you're going to let me go?”

Cas stared back at the demon. “Sorry.”

“You  _lied_ –?”

Quick as a flash, Cas drove the blade into the demon's neck. He leaned in close, looking into the pitch black of the demon's eyes, and growled, “All warfare is based on deception.” There was a flicker and a spark as the life went out of the demon, leaving Cas alone.

This whole thing may be a trap, but if Lucifer at least didn't know that Cas knew... that had to be some kind of advantage.

* * *

When the survivors from the town had first arrived back at camp, without Cas, and Dean had heard what had happened, he had tracked Matt down in the middle of the camp and beaten the ever-loving crap out of him, in front of everyone. And then, when the man was in a bruised and bloodied heap on the ground, Dean had shouted at him – but was simultaneously shouting at everyone else – “Next time you think of screwing over Cas” – Dean punched Matt one more time – “ _don't!_ ”

No one had intervened as Dean had dragged Matt into the meeting cabin and cuffed him to the ladder leading into the attic.

If Azaria had been a man, he would probably have done the same thing to her – but unless a woman was infected or possessed that was a line he still would not cross, no matter how much he might sometimes want to. Still, the nature of her actions was not the same as Matt's; Azaria had acted with the intention of getting innocent people much needed medical attention, whereas Matt had leapt at the chance to dick Cas over. At least, that was how Dean saw it. Maybe he really just wanted to take out his rage on someone, and half constructed an excuse to beat the crap out of Matt so that he could.

The worst thing was, it didn't even make Dean feel the least bit better. Nothing did. Without Cas he was lost. He returned to Cas's cabin– the cabin he shared with Cas, and stayed there. Knowing that Cas was out there alone and had been for about 12 hours already ate Dean up inside. He knew he should have slept, but he couldn't. He lay on his side of the bed and held Cas's pillow, taking in the familiar scent of him, but that gave him no comfort, only strengthening his resolve and intensifying his anger at those who had left him.

At the crack of dawn Dean convened a meeting – not in the meeting cabin, seeing as that was where had stowed Matt, but in the cabin he shared with Cas. It was weird to be in there for this sort of thing, but Dean knew that this would be over quickly. He had got a few of the most senior people in the camp to come, as well as Ollie. He didn't invite Azaria. He was afraid of what he might say to her.

“Alright,” Dean made a concerted effort to keep his voice even, as if he were talking about just another thing to do. “Let's talk about finding Cas.”

Risa and Yaeger exchanged a glance, but everyone listened patiently to Dean. Yaeger had opposed the decision to leave Cas – and everyone else supported his version of events in that regard. “Ollie,” he turned to the young man, who widened his eyes in obvious fear at being singled out. “You're just a kid, and I know you were looking out for your family. But for future reference, when Cas tells you to do something, you damn well do it. Do I make myself clear?” The boy nodded, and Dean went on, “Good. Tell all your friends how it is. You're gonna stay here. Azaria...” he sighed heavily. “She's a nurse. She's needed here; I won't make her go. Risa,” he turned to her. “You're in charge while I'm gone. Yaeger after you.”

Her eyes widened. “Where are you going?”

“To find Cas. Matt was among the last people to see him, so I'm taking him with me. If we're gonna be gone more than a few days, I'll try to get word to you. We'll take the satellite phone so we should be able to talk whenever, but no non-essential communication that might give away too much.”

“Dean, wait–”

Dean silenced her with a look.

He left swiftly, and Yaeger followed him out. “Dean!” he called, “if you want someone to go with you – someone who wants to help, I'll go. I'm sorry about Cas – let me help you find him.”

Dean put his hand on Yaeger's shoulder. “Thanks.” He wanted to explain why it was important to him to do this his way, why it was so important to force Matt to find Cas, why it was so damn personal. In the end, all he managed was, “You're a good man.” Yaeger raised his eyebrows, and let Dean return to his cabin.

Inside, Matt was still slumped at the foot of the ladder, handcuffed to it, the bruises on his face turning purple, the left side of his face swelling up so badly that his eye didn't open.

“Mornin',” Dean said, with an obviously sarcastic smile. “How'd you sleep?”

“Fuck you.”

Dean leaned back against the table and folded his arms. “I'm here to talk to you about your options,” Dean tried to keep his voice even, but knew that the cold rage was obvious. Matt just shot him a questioning look, so Dean explained, “You get to choose your punishment. But either way – you're gonna be sorry for what you did.”

“We got those people out,” Matt rasped. “I'm not sorry.”

“Oh I know,” Dean sneered. “That's why option one is that you come with me. And we find Cas.”

Matt rolled his eyes (as best as he could). “Let me get this straight. You keep me, one of the best soldiers you've got, locked up in here – right up until you need my help to find your boyfriend?”

Dean leapt on him, hand tight around Matt's throat, holding the older man's head still and leaning in threateningly close to him. “You abandoned him in the desert,” Dean growled. “And now, you're gonna right your wrong. Or so help me god, I will strip you of your weapons, drive you right into the middle of a hot zone and leave you there to get turned. That's option two.”

“Get  _turned_ , huh?” Matt smirked. “When you said you were going to strip me just then, I wondered where you were going with that–”

Dean drew back and punched him hard in the face. Blood rushed into Matt's mouth from accidentally biting his cheek, and he spat it out onto the floor. Dean crouched down in front of him. “You're not my type,” he growled. “Now you listen to me, you cowardly son-of-a-bitch, the only reason you're alive, for now, is because Cas is still alive.”

“You don't know that.”

“I do.”

Matt scoffed. “ _How_  the fuck do you know? The power of love?”

Dean punched him again and took renewed hold of him by the throat. “If Cas dies because of what you did – you are going to  _wish_  you were dead.” Dean leaned in closer, eyes burning into Matt's. “If Cas dies, I will have you  _begging_  me to kill you –  _do you understand_?”

Matt stared back at him with fury, which flickered out to be replaced by fear and reluctant internal admittance of defeat. “I understand.”

* * *

For a day or so, Cas didn't have time to sleep and barely had time to eat. His shoulder hurt like hell as he hot-wired an abandoned car and tried to drive away, to somewhere safe. He had to admit that he was in no condition right now to be hunting down a demon – and even if he had been fit, he wasn't sure where to start. Those demons may well have truly been decoys, and even if they weren't, he had no further leads as to what to look for in this area. 

Cas sighed heavily and hit the steering wheel hard with his left palm in frustration. He had been so close, got so far, and now it seemed that the path to success had dried up on him.

_It's a trap_ , the demon's words echoed in Cas's mind. He hadn't even tried to pretend otherwise. Lucifer wanted to draw Cas and Dean out, wanted them to attack. Cas decided immediately that he wasn't going to tell Dean about that. Dean's mission in life was going after Lucifer; nothing would stop him, anyway.

Cas left a trail for Dean to follow to find him – if Dean happened to come looking for him. Cas took something of a chance; stopping by at a well-known safe zone at a salt mine, but he didn't stay long. He asked around for any information he could that might help him find Duane, but talking to people wasn't exactly Cas's strong point, and none of these people seemed to know anything, anyway.

He talked to one girl there, or, more accurately, the one girl talked to him by offering him her  _services_. The girl was young, disturbingly young to be doing what she was doing, and she seemed pretty stoned, but took on board everything that Cas was saying to her. He treated her with respect and flirted with her a little, and thought it likely that she would remember him tell everyone else about him, but that was all to the good for if Dean came looking for him.

He then left and found somewhere that he could hide. Rain came in fits and starts, lightning flashing and thunder rumbling off in the distance, getting closer. Cas hated to admit it, but he needed somewhere reasonably private, somewhere he could get a few hours of sleep and tend to his wound. Then, he'd either try to look for this demon or make a break for it across hundreds of miles to Camp Chitaqua... alone. Whenever Cas thought forward to that anxiety knotted up his stomach, but Cas couldn't afford to think too far ahead right now. He just needed to survive.

* * *

Matt was not much of a road trip buddy, at least, not to Dean. He sat in stern, vigilant silence in the passenger seat, clutching his gun, while Dean drove. Rain lashed at the windows for much of the journey, until they reached the town where Cas had been. A search of the town proved unhelpful, the only evidence of Cas's presence being the two demons he had killed.

The nearest thing to civilisation within fifty miles was a huddle of survivors who hid in a salt mine, so Dean reasoned that the best thing to do would be to go there.

The place was really appallingly guarded, and Dean had little to do with these people most of the time due to their lack of professionalism and general unreliability. They were quickly approached by a teenage girl and had no way to tell whether she was a croat or not, so Matt kept his gun trained on her at all times. She seemed not to notice.

“I'm looking for someone,” Dean explained.

“Aren't we all?” She replied.

Dean sighed. This was going to be difficult. “Someone who may have been by here. Goes by 'Cas'. Do you remember seeing him, talking to him, hearing about him?”

“Yes,” she said thoughtfully, breaking into a smile. “I remember Cas.”

“Well, what did he say to you?” Dean pressed her.

“He had these eyes, I remember,” she sighed. “They were so  _blue_ , like the bluest blue – stunning – like the ocean sparkling on a sunny day, like, sapphires–”

“Yeah,  _okay_ ,” Dean snapped, rolling his eyes. “He was totally dreamy, I get it, now did he tell you where the fuck he was going?”

“Said he was looking for someone,” she went on, insouciantly. “Someone called Duane.”

Dean stared at her, wondering fleetingly whether when this girl said  _Duane_  she was misremembering his name. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

Suddenly, the girl's eyes met his and widened. “Oh my god, are you Dean?” W _ell that answers that_.

Dean kept outwardly calm. “Who's asking?”

“You have green eyes.” She smiled, and started to giggle. “You're  _are_ – you're really really pretty. You don't have to pay.”

“ _Thanks_ , kid,” Dean frowned, “but I don't need directions to the playground. Now–”

“Where did you stab him?”

“What are you talking about?”

“When you first met him,” she pressed. “The man you're looking for. Where did you stab him? Show me.”

Dean took a deep breath, the memory of that night in the barn a few days after Dean had been raised from Hell coming to him as if it were a dream; something that had happened to someone else. It was all so long ago now, but Dean remembered. Dean pointed to the spot on his chest corresponding to where he'd stabbed Cas with the demon-killing knife. The girl nodded and smiled again. “So you are Dean. Hi. Okay, I'll tell you – but he told me to tell you to go back to camp. But then he said, if you got this far, you probably wouldn't got back to the camp just because he said so, so I'm to tell you where to find him.”

Dean smiled for the first time. Cas knew him, alright. “Yeah. That sounds like him. Where did he go?”

As soon as the girl had finished her explanation, Dean and Matt left the salt mine. Matt was looking at him curiously as they walked. “You  _stabbed_  Cas? When?”

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged. “First time I talked to him. I thought he might have been a demon. Me and Bobby, we had all kinds of weapons, all the sigils we could find out of books from all over the world.”

“Huh,” Matt raised his eyebrows. “Smart.”

Dean nodded. “But nothing even slowed him down. I never believed in angels, but when I saw that I...” he trailed off. Dean felt strangely protective of the Cas in his memory, as if Matt had no  _right_  to know anything about him and Cas, even though this information was hardly sensitive. He didn't mention that Castiel had pulled him out of Hell. He never told anyone that he had  _been_  to Hell apart from a few off-the-cuff mentions now and then that were generally interpreted as hyperbole. No one other than Cas could possibly begin to understand.

They got back into their truck and pulled away. It was running out of gas, and Dean was perpetually on the lookout for a gas station, or anywhere else he might be able to commandeer some, eventually stopping off at the side of the road to abandon that truck and get a different one.

It was getting dark by the time they reached the next town along the road, and Dean was about to drive straight past the place, past the sign pointing down a dirt track– But something on the sign caught his eye. Dean slammed on the brakes.

“Why are we stopping?” Matt asked, tersely. Without a word, Dean jumped out of the car and ran back to the sign.

Sure enough, there, draped over it was the red beaded bracelet that Cas wore. Matt had followed him over, and was looking at the cord without any recognition. “What is it?”

Unconsciously, Dean held the bracelet close to his chest for a second, before pushing it into his inside jacket pocket. “Cas was here.”

“Oh right, that's the fruity jewellery that Cas wears...”

Dean frowned at him. “They're Buddhist prayer beads,” he replied, flatly. “Get back in the car.”

* * *

Matt sighed wearily as they pulled into the third motel they'd come across in the town. He had asked Dean what exactly they were looking for, and Dean had simply replied, “We're looking for Cas. And we're not leaving here until we find him.”

Dean led the way into the deserted reception. This place wasn't open for business, of course, and the floor was carpeted with shards of glass from the shattered windows. The computer and the till were long gone – but there, on the desk, was a check-in ledger. It was not covered in dust, and had clearly been recently disturbed, but Dean tried to keep his hopes at bay. He pulled it open, finding the last page to be written on and then, there, bottom of the list checked into 126 was a  _Master Bates_ , no date listed. Dean couldn't stop himself from breaking into a grin. 

Sensing the change in Dean's demeanour, Matt took a step closer. “What is it? He's here?”

“He's at least been here,” Dean replied, practically running out of reception, up the steps and along the balcony. It took him a minute to get to the end of the row, and when he reached it he was breathing heavily. He knocked twice, paused, and knocked twice again. That was the code they agreed.

_Come on, Cas, please answer the door. Please be here. Please be okay. Please_.

After a moment of silence, Dean happened to glance down, seeing a smudge of yellow on the threshold, stretching under the door. He crouched down to investigate.

“What is it?” Asked Matt.

“Sulphur,” Dean replied, his blood running cold. “A demon was here.”

* * *

_24 hours earlier._

Castiel washed himself as best as he could with the water he could get out of the motel's pipes in the bathroom, while the rain pounded and the wind howled outside. He had to do it to take care of the bullet wound in his right shoulder more than anything else – it was far more serious than the graze he had got on his other shoulder at Bobby's house and had to be cleaned and bandaged properly. How many times had Cas been shot and stabbed now? He looked over his own body and set about counting his scars, lost count after about ten and then decided that he was happier not knowing and abandoned the enterprise.

With the rest of the water Cas gave himself a thorough rub down with the white towels – which were far from white by the time he was done. He still felt filthy afterwards, and cold and clammy as the tepid water cooled and evaporated from his skin. He then pulled on the same blood-stained clothes he had been wearing before, seeing as he didn't have any others, and practically felt as if he might as well not have bothered. He was still dirty and now he was cold and tired too.

With a weary sigh he pulled open the bathroom door, and then froze.

Crowley was sat in a chair next to his bed, idly sipping at a glass of scotch. He glanced at Cas and then sniffed at the amber liquid, spinning it in the glass. “Hope you don't mind I opened up the bar, I do know how extortionately these places bill for that...”

“How did you get in here?” Cas took a step closer and clenched his fists – the knife was on the side and he could reach for it–

It shot across the room and into Crowley's hand before Cas could do anything. The demon looked at it idly and then tossed it onto the bed.

“Terrible weather we're having,” Crowley quipped, as if nothing had happened, gesturing to the window just as lightning flashed outside. “The prodigal son returns.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Lucifer? Lucifer is coming?”

“Lucifer is always coming – and I don't mean in the sexy way,” Crowley grinned, though that grin faded at a lack of reaction from Cas, so he went on, “Old Luci doesn't much care about America – he told me so once – but he has unfinished business here.”

“Dean,” Cas stated rather than asked.

“Ah, yes,  _Dean,_ ” Crowley said with a strangely wistful air. “Not your classic all-American hero, more of a flawed and conflicted anti-hero: Harry Callahan, Raskolnikov, Han Solo – say, do you think Dean had a lot of confusing feelings about Han Solo as a teenager? Because I sure do...”

“Shut up,” Cas snapped. “Shut up and get out. Now.”

“Really, Cas, where  _are_  your manners?” Crowley replied, ignoring Cas's question and smiling disingenuously at him.

“How did you get in here?” Cas repeated, glancing at the unbroken lines of salt by the door and window.

Crowley just smirked. “Oh  _please_.”

Cas bristled. “Get out. Now. Or I lay you to waste.”

Crowley chuckled but did not move or speak. Cas took a step forward, but Crowley simply raised his hand and flung Cas back, pinning him against the wall. “You were saying?” Crowley got to his feet, and Cas stared back at him in silence, seething with anger, his back pinned so tightly to the wall that it restricted his breathing.

The demon sighed and took a sip of his drink. “You never were known for your sparking conversation, angel. But I know something that you might just want to talk about.”

“And what's that?” Cas asked, disinterestedly.

“The colt.”

Cas looked away in exasperation. “You already tried this trick last year, Crowley.”

“An unfortunate turn of bad luck,” Crowley raised his hands apologetically.

“I don't believe in luck,” Cas replied.

“Oh, of course.  _Castiel: angel of free will_  – or is that an oxymoron?” Crowley took another sip of his drink, while Cas remained silent. “That's the trouble with free will, my dear boy, other pieces on the board have it too. I had no idea that Lucifer and his cronies knew about the last place I stashed the colt.”

Cas scoffed. “And you expect me to take that on faith?”

“Oh heavens no!” Crowley replied, getting to his feet. “What I propose is a binding contract.”

“You want to make a deal?” Cas looked at him, stunned. “With me?”

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner.”

“I'm an angel, you ass. I don't have a soul to sell.”

Crowley grinned. “Oh, but I think you do. See, I buy souls for a living, I'm pretty sure I know one when I see one. I could make sure, if you like.”

Cas narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. “How?”

“I could kiss you.” Cas just stared at him in silence, so Crowley chuckled and clarified, “Hey, if I kissed you, I would know for sure whether it was possible to make a deal with you or not – just a suggestion. If you don't have a soul, talking about a deal is rather futile.”

“It's futile anyway,” Cas said slowly, suspicious of Crowley attempting to trick him into a deal with an  _investigative_  kiss. “I will not make any deal with you.”

“Look,” Crowley held up his hands, “I don't normally lay down my position like this, but I would pay handsomely to have an  _angel soul_  to take back to Hell. Very handsomely indeed – it would be one hell of a deal for you.”

“You're lying.”

“I can't lie. A contract is a contract, Cas. Even I can't go back on contracts.”

“You failed to get the colt once. What if you fail again?”

“If I don't get the colt for you, then I don't get your soul. Can't say fairer than that.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Your representative said that you already  _have_  the colt.”

“I do – well... I know where it is. No one else does. Not even my good friend and associate Bela, whom you met. Just me. That's why no one can kill me.”

Cas laughed. “But any number of people must want to torture you.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Hey, when you're on the run from the devil with the only weapon on earth that might be able to kill him, every plan comes with its downsides. I've been to Hell, angel, torture is old – pedestrian. The worst torture that even Dean could ever lay on me would be nothing...” Crowley trailed off, noticing how Cas tensed, how he clenched his jaw and glared at Crowley for that. “Oh,” Crowley smiled. “Hit a nerve? One of you initiating it more than the other?”

“Shut up and get out,” Cas growled, threatening Crowley by his tone and body language even though he was hopelessly overpowered. “ _Now_.”

“Alright,” Crowley took a step away from him and flung his arms open. “You're twisting my arm. The colt, plus everlasting protection for lover boy and his band of miserable men from demons, croats, werewolves and all the other supernatural nasties lurking in the dark. And you get six months to live.” Cas opened his mouth to protest that, but Crowley silenced him. “Look, with everything else I'm throwing in, six months is a lot. You soul is valuable but isn't  _priceless_. That should be long enough for you and Dean to kill Lucifer.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Dean needs my help. I need to live as long as Lucifer lives.”

“Ah,” Crowley nodded. “You'd have a bit of a conflict of interest then, wouldn't you?”

“No,” Cas disagreed. “My life is of little import.”

Crowley went quiet, taking his time by sipping his drink. “As long as Lucifer lives,” he agreed. “Kill him in a month, die in a month. Kill him in ten years, die in ten years. Ten years is the maximum though – seeing as Lucifer lives forever. You can't get your immortality back that easy.”

“I told you,” Cas sighed. “I want to end Lucifer's reign of terror over God's earth. Compared to that, my life is of no importance.”

Crowley drank again, finishing his glass and setting it down. He also removed te force holding Cas to the wall, though Cas remained standing where he was. “You're in luck: I believe you, as much as it saddens me.”

Cas took advantage of Crowley's pause, and asked, “And if the colt doesn't work?”

“What?”

“What if the colt can't kill Lucifer,” Cas said slowly. “What if we put a bullet through his skull with it and he still lives? What then?”

Crowley thought for a moment. “You're the angel here. You think that's likely?

Cas sighed and looked away. “It's a possibility. Angels are not so easy to kill.” They stood in silence for a moment, until Cas added, “Of course, if I had an angel blade, I could stab him with that. Or melt it down into bullets, then  _any_  gun could kill him. But I don't have an angel blade. I'm not an angel anymore, and the other angels took theirs when they left.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows, apparently impressed with the theory of Cas's idea, even though it couldn't be put into practice. “Good-looking  _and_  smart,” Crowley grinned, “Someone upstairs must like you. Although...” his eyes scanned the length of Cas's body, taking in his stained, torn clothes and general scruffiness. “You have looked better.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Are you... flirting with me?”

“Ha!” Crowley laughed. “Please, I'm just trying to ruffle your feathers– But oh yes, you don't have those anymore...”

Cas frowned and Crowley stopped, a satisfied sort of smile on his face. “I still have to put my ass on the line to get you the colt,” Crowley answered, finally. “You try to kill Lucifer, and the colt fails, then I guess you've got ten years to find another way before I take your soul to Hell anyway. It's a fair deal.”

“I suppose so,” Cas agreed.

“So we've agreed our terms, then. It's a good deal. Not an offer I'd make anyone else.” Crowley smiled and added, “Offer of a lifetime.”

Cas was still reeling from the news that he had a soul – and a valuable one at that. Perhaps the most use his soul could be would be to get the colt so that Dean could kill Lucifer... Cas absently rubbed his aching shoulder as he thought. As a matter of fact, this was probably the only way his soul could be of any use. Logically, Cas knew that making deals with Crowley was dangerous, and if Dean found out he would apoplectic, and yet, this was probably his best shot at helping Dean... and Cas wasn't sure whether he could or should turn that down. 


	13. The Chain

**13: The Chain**

Much to Cas's annoyance, Crowley had insisted that they move on from the motel to talk. Crowley was on the run – and as such he seemed to believe that he could not stay in any one place for more than a few minutes.

"Being on the run sounds exhausting," Cas murmured, from the passenger seat of Crowley's stolen car, which the demon drove, as they ventured out through the pouring rain.

"It is," he replied. Crowley tried to remain cavalier, confident, unflappable, but his front of self-assuredness was wearing thin, and the despair underneath it was starting to show through. He seemed to lose the strength to keep up his appearances in front of Cas after a few hours of driving.

They drove through the lashing rain and the dark in silence, and even Cas found himself wanting to make conversation. "Bela Talbot," he asked. "Your demon. How is it that she can teleport?"

"She can't." Crowley chuckled. "Last time you saw her, at the home of the dearly departed Bobby Singer, I had an open phone line to her and summoned her out. It's all smoke and mirrors, parlour tricks. That's what I've got."

"Hmm." Cas looked out of the window. "That doesn't explain why I couldn't sense her approach the way I can with other demons. Even when she was in the room with us..." Cas turned to him. "Is she really a demon at all?"

"Well she's not human," Crowley replied. "Not anymore. Hell'll do that to you."

"Then what is she?"

"What are you?"

Cas fell silent.

After some time, Crowley slowed down, turned off the lights and let the car roll forward into a ditch at the side of the road, until it was out of the view of the road, covered by undergrowth and trees.

The hood of the car hit a tree to finally stop them – and though they weren't going fast, the seatbelt holding Cas in place tightened over Cas's right shoulder to stop him falling forward – and the resulting explosion of pain made Cas black out for an instant, and then he slumped in his seat panting and swearing, his eyes screwed tight shut, a few tears escaping him. Crowley released Cas's seatbelt and sat there in silence, waiting for Cas to compose himself.

Cas turned to look at him, expecting Crowley to laugh and make fun of him – though the truth was utterly different. Crowley was frowning at him and looking Cas over thoughtfully. He said nothing.

"Why did you do that?" Cas asked, looking out of the windows. "How do we get out of here?"

Crowley shrugged. "Well, you, I suppose, will have to walk. I suggest you wait until it stops raining. But you'll be safe enough here for a while."

Cas huffed and folded his arms, looking down at his shoulder to see fresh blood from the wound seeping out through his makeshift bandages and onto his shirt. "Waste of a perfectly good car," Cas muttered.

"It's out of gas, Cas," Crowley replied. "So?" he went on cordially. "What about this deal? Don't let  _making out in a car in the forest_  being the start of all horror movies ever put you off."

Cas narrowed his eyes at Crowley, and didn't answer him for a long time.

* * *

At seeing the sulphur and learning that a demon had been at Cas's motel room, Dean immediately went to the window. "Cas?" He shouted, just in case, but not expecting an answer.

He turned his face away and, with the butt of his shotgun, smashed a pane of glass in the window, and then reached in to unlock the door.

The room proved to be vacant, but Dean wandered around it anyway – not sure of what he was looking for. Matt loitered resentfully in the doorway while Dean made careful inspection of the room and the bathroom – which was enlightening. Dean's eye was caught by a slip of paper on the bed – presumably a note from Cas. He picked it up, unfolded it, and read it, recognising Cas's eerily precise and consistent handwriting.

_Dean,_  
I am following up on some leads from the demons opposed to Lucifer. I don't know how long I will be gone. Return to the camp, and I'll see you there. I know I've made mistakes and I have failed in the past, but I can do this. I promise, I will find some way to redeem myself to you.  
Eternally yours,  
Cas

Dean breathed in sharply through his nose and stood up straight, trying to fight off the lump in his throat, the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. " _Eternally yours" – who the hell writes something like that?_

"So?" Matt shifted impatiently. "What is it?"

Dean calmly folded the paper and tucked it in the inside pocket of his jacket. Fighting to keep his voice even and steady, he answered, "We need to get out of here. Keep looking."

"What did the note say?"

"It doesn't matter. Cas was here, now he's not. Let's go."

"Doesn't the note tell you where to find him?" Matt stood imposingly in the doorway, studying Dean carefully. "No, I don't think it does. So what else could it possibly say? I think it tells you  _not_  to find him. To let him go. Am I right?"

"We're getting out of here," Dean repeated, flatly.

"No." Matt's hand rested on the grip of his handgun. "You want to go on a suicide mission for your boyfriend, you go alone. I'm not a part of this. I've already let this go on too damn long." Dean rolled his eyes, but Matt continued, "Do we even know how far behind him we are? I mean, did he write the date on his little love letter or what?"

"Look," Dean said steadily. "You want out, then go. At this point you're just slowing me down. But if you go," Dean warned, "and then I ever see you again, I will kill you."

Matt sighed and let go of the grip of his gun. "All my stuff's at the camp," he said resentfully, by way of a reply, and reluctant agreement.

Dean nodded. "Then we keep going. Listen – he was here yesterday." Matt frowned and opened his mouth to ask how Dean knew this, so Dean explained, "There are towels in the bathroom that are still damp. He can't have been gone that long. We'll search this area to and try and pick up a trail."

"And if we can't?"

"Then I guess we go back to camp. Cas..." Dean hesitated. "There's some blood – on the towels. He got hurt."

Matt nodded. "Probably in killing two demons by himself."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, his mind running rampant with speculation as to what Cas had done and where it had taken him. "Way I see it – whatever Cas does, once he's done it, he's gonna try and make his way back to camp sooner or later. So I say, we go that way, and hope we run into him."

* * *

The walk the following morning was one of the longest and most unpleasant of Cas's life. It drizzled off and on, and seemed too dark for the day time. He had no idea where he was, only dimly aware that he was going south, which was back in the general direction of Camp Chitaqua. At least, Cas hoped it was.

The demon, Duane, had got the jump on Cas already, and in truth, there hadn't been much that Cas could have done by himself to find Duane even if Crowley hadn't interfered. He had a name but nothing much else - no clue as to where the demon was likely to be.

Cas frowned and grumbled to himself that this whole business with Crowley may simply be a diversion to distract Cas and give Duane time to get far away from him – because Crowley was one of the bad guys, just like Dean always said. Maybe Dean was right. Maybe Dean was right about everything.

After emerging from the wooded area where Crowley had abandoned the car and out onto a country road, Cas didn't even come across a town in the first three hours of his walk along the long, strait, road. The longness and straightness of said road was maddening in itself; Cas felt as though he was walking on a treadmill, the view up ahead of him remaining unchanged for miles and miles. He looked to his left and right, partly to check for what was around him, but also partly to check that he was actually moving forward, because when he stared straight ahead, he didn't feel as though he was. The whole thing became disorienting, and Cas was relieved when he saw a truck-stop by the side of the road in the distance.

Reaching the truck-stop, however, was just another layer to the madness; the sameness of the scenery messing with Cas's perspective, and he had no idea how big the building was or how far away it was. Cas's human needs mounted up and he became acutely conscious of them all: the pain of constantly walking, the fatigue that fogged his brain due to missing a night's sleep, the way his throat hurt every time he swallowed. Cas needed to drink something if he was to survive; it was his highest priority. He was surrounded by rainwater in the puddles, but drinking that would do him more harm than good – unless he was one the verge of dying of thirst, and it came to that. Cas really hoped it wasn't going to come to that.

When Cas finally reached the truck stop, it turned out to be deserted and utterly abandoned save for a burnt-out truck with half a dozen charred skeletons inside, which was suitably disturbing. Cas speculated as to how they came to be there whilst he rooted around in the building for a while. He managed to find several cans of Coke-a-Cola, wrapped up securely in their plastic packaging.  _They still make Coke,_  Cas smiled to himself, as he drank some, even though he didn't much like the taste of it. Humans were nothing if not  _persistent_. It was admirable, really.

Having drunk as much as he could at once without making himself sick, Cas shoved more of the cans into his jacket pockets, and carried some in a plastic bag, setting out for his walk once more. There had been no food to be had – but food Cas could conceivably live without for a while, if he had to. It was a lower priority than finding shelter. It was a lower priority, even, than getting back to camp – or working out some way for Dean to find him and take him back, loathe as Cas was to be  _rescued_. Cas wrote another note on the cardboard tray from the Coke packaging, almost identical to the one he had written before, re-iterating to Dean that the would meet back at the camp. He then set the packaging down in the middle of the road, covered over with plastic to keep water off it and weighed down with a rock. It should catch Dean's attention if he came by this way, and would hopefully still be readable.

* * *

By the time night fell, Cas had worked out where he was, at least. He was about sixty miles north of Camp Chitaqua – and he could probably make the walk in two days if he really pushed himself – much less if he could find a working car to steal. Though Cas was not optimistic on either count; not having found any cars he could start so far, and his feet were already aching and developing blisters and abrasions from rubbing on the insides of his boots, especially at the back of his ankles. Cas had never had that problem before – then again, he had never had to walk such a long way either.

He had  _checked in_  to another motel, which gave him 'the creeps', as Dean might say. There were overgrown trees nearby which blew in the wind and rustled as if someone was walking among them, and there was a vibration in the air, something on the outside of Cas's perception; the creeping feeling that he was being watched. Cas took a room he could easily make an escape from if he had to and sealed himself inside it, keeping his guns within easy reach or actually in his hands.

The very thought of Coke was making Cas feel ill by that point, but he had no other food or drink, apart from the tiny packet of plain cookies on the side in motel room. Eating those was perhaps worse than eating nothing at all, as it tricked his stomach into thinking that more food was coming, even though it wasn't.

_I could go back to reception,_  Cas caught himself thinking, his stomach clenching and growling with hunger.  _Get the keys to all the rooms, and get all the cookies_. It would still be no great amount of food, definitely not worth the risk of leaving his room in the dark for – especially if there really was something out there. And yet Cas found himself becoming obsessed with this imaginary feast of tiny plain cookies, thinking about it in detail – losing track of time.

Cas didn't attempt to start a fire to keep himself warm, not wanting the light to attract attention. The rain picked up again, and the general dampness of the atmosphere outside seemed to leak into the room somehow. Cas felt cold and crawled into bed, fully dressed apart from his boots, even wearing his jacket.

He lay there, in the ominous silence, acutely aware that with no one to look out for him he was in real danger if anything came for him in the middle of the night – anything that might have seen him arrive and was biding its time, waiting for him to fall asleep, and anything that could smell him – a vampire, a werewolf. But he was so exhausted that he could stay awake no longer.

Cas pulled one of the musty pillows under the covers, holding it his arms and curling up around it. He wouldn't wish his fate on anyone, in truth, and yet the selfish part of him did wish that Dean was there with him. Cas closed his eyes and tried to get to sleep, trying to relax, trying to imagine Dean's reassuring, familiar presence next to him in the dark.

It wasn't just due to concerns of practical protection that Cas wished for Dean. He wished for things that as an angel he had never imagined he could wish for; he wished for warmth, for slow, gentle, human affection. He wished for the flickering firelight of their cabin back at the camp, he wished for the familiar smell and creaking sounds of their bed, he wished for the easy quietness of Dean's nocturnal company – whether Dean held him, made love to him or lay next to him and slept – it didn't matter, Cas just wished for  _Dean_  all the same.

If Cas thought about Dean enough while he went to sleep, perhaps he would dream about him – so Cas concentrated as he lay there, arms around the pillow. He concentrated on the details, on Dean's smile – the little dimples that appeared above the corners of his mouth – concentrated on the way Dean's hand felt against Cas's skin, holding the side of his face, fingers running through his hair. And Cas could even tell when he was asleep, because he could see and feel those things – in his mind a fragile dream flickered into life, fluttering in an erratic and ungainly fashion through Cas's brain as if bewildered as to what it was doing there, as if the dream was a wild animal that Cas had successfully snatched out of the air and trapped for himself.

There came two knocks at the door.

Cas's eyes flew open and he collected himself with a start. He was in the same dark and damp motel room, and he was alone. Did he dream the knock? Was it a product of how he wished for Dean that he imagined hearing him knock on the door?

Dean knocked again, the second short burst of two, their pre-agreed code for finding each other. Cas was out of bed and halfway to the door before he woke up properly and it occurred to him that it might  _not_  actually be Dean out there, but someone else, some _thing_  else, imitating Dean.

Peering through the peephole, however, revealed that it was Dean – accompanied by Matt, of all people. Cas frowned and tentatively unlocked the door, pulling it open a small way.

"Cas," Dean said it flatly, with a note of surprise, but he didn't exactly smile, or throw his arms around Cas and hug him.

Cas smiled tentatively, but he doused Dean with a little holy water before letting him in. Dean took out his own holy water and did the same. Then, Dean held up his hand, showing Cas the silver ring he wore there – that Cas had given him and which could not be worn by a shape shifter without a reaction. So they shook hands, pressing the rings to each other's skin, which was actually fairly difficult for Cas because his right shoulder was bandaged up.

Status established, Dean hit Cas on the left shoulder just a little too hard to be playful. "Where the hell have you been?"

Cas sighed. "Looking for a demon. Come in," Cas invited Dean and Matt, most awkward third wheel ever, inside, and shut the door.

Dean pressed him, launching straight into a conversation. "You wanna  _elaborate_?"

"Yes, I  _will_." Cas replied tersely, resting against the sideboard.

Matt interjected, "Is this demon called Duane?"

"Yes," Cas replied. "I heard of him from another demon where Ollie was from–"

"And what was  _his_  name?" Dean interrupted.

"I don't know, Dean, we didn't exactly  _chat_. He told me about Duane being in Lucifer's entourage, then I killed him."

"So can Duane get us the colt?" Dean asked, keenly.

"Maybe. This other demon said that Duane knows where Lucifer is and what his plans are ahead of time, and he might know where the colt is too."

Dean nodded but scowled. "And you put your ass on the line just to find this guy? By yourself? Are you on his tail, at least?"

"Not exactly–"

"Then why didn't you come back to camp?" Dean asked, raising his voice slightly, trying to mask his obvious concern for Cas's welfare with anger. "What the hell were you thinking? What were you trying to prove?"

Cas sighed, tipping his head back and staring at the ceiling. Without looking at Dean, he replied, "You didn't have to come looking for me."

"Cas," Dean began, but he couldn't say anything else. Cas let his head fall forward and finally met Dean's eyes, the look of anguished affection telling him,  _Of course I did_.

Cas bit his lip. "Do you have any food?"

Dean nodded, seeming in equal parts relieved and disappointed by the change of subject. He dropped his duffel bag down on the bed and began rifling through it, pulling out some bread and some cheese that someone at the camp had made from goat's milk. The cheese seemed to make most people ill, but Cas was resilient enough to eat it and did so, eagerly.

Dean motioned to the bag on the bed, which was stuffed full of other provisions. "You've been gone a while," he said, matter-of-factly, holding himself back, presumably because Matt was there. "So I got some clean clothes if you want them."

Cas broke into a relieved smile and thanked Dean. There was water, though here, as with the other room, it was not running water, and Cas had only had a rudimentary wash of sorts to avoid feeling too filthy. But he hadn't shaved since about a week before he even left for the mission, and of course he was still wearing the same old blood and sweat stained clothes. He was sure he smelled pretty bad and looked a total mess. His hair hung down over his forehead almost to his eyes and felt grimy and irritating.

Dean seemed to read his thoughts and pushed Cas's hair back off his forehead and swept it to one side, where it actually remained in place. Dean smiled very slightly, shyly. "You look like shit."

Cas chuckled. "I know." He picked up the spare clothes and went into the bathroom to wash himself as much as possible and change into them.

They remained in silence while Dean and Matt attempted some kind of wash as well, and had something to eat and drink.

"How did you find me?" Cas asked, suddenly, as the question occurred to him.

"Vampire," Dean replied as if this was no big deal. "It followed you around a while and thought about coming after you, but thought better of it. We saw it, asked it about you, then took it out."

"I see," Cas nodded.

"All in a day's work," Dean replied. He looked as if he had questions of his own for Cas, but he could tell that Cas was too tired for it. Cas still had to talk to Dean about Crowley, Lucifer, the colt, and the deal that he had been offered. But first, he had to sleep. Now he had the security of someone to watch over him, Cas's body stopped trying to hide its own fatigue, and Cas looked at the bed longingly.

"You go first," Dean waved Cas onto the bed. "Matt? You wanna sleep?"

"Do I have to share with him?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "What are you, twelve years old? You can sleep next to Cas or you can sleep on the floor – I don't care. I'll take the first watch; not really sleepy."

Matt resentfully climbed onto the bed next to Cas and lay there on top of the covers. Cas climbed under the covers and made himself comfortable, and because it would act as a barrier between the two of them.

"You know," Cas mumbled with his eyes closed. "The concept of everyone having to have a separate room to sleep in is a very modern one, and the concept of people sleeping in separate beds is only a little older." Cas yawned, settling down against the musty pillow. "A few centuries ago men who travelled together would regularly share a bed. The sexual connotations attached to it now are a product mostly of the nineteenth and twentieth century advent of homophobia..." Cas trailed off.

"Well, okay then," Matt replied, his voice a curious mix of unease and amusement. "You just keep your  _connotations_  to yourself, and I guess we're good."

Cas chuckled before falling asleep.

* * *

It was easier to find a  _whole other car_  with some gas in the tank and steal that than it was to find gasoline, so Cas did not recognise the pick-up truck that Dean and Matt had parked outside the motel when he saw it the next morning.

There was only a bench seat in the front, so while Matt drove and Dean kept careful vigil out of the window, Cas sat awkwardly in between them. This was at Dean's insistence; so that Cas's shoulder could heal, and he could rest, but nothing about the drive made him feel all that rested.

No one spoke.

Matt eventually decided to make conversation. "So," he began calmly, to Cas, "where the fuck were you? There was sulphur at the first motel you were at."

Cas looked solemnly at Dean and spoke to him as if he had asked the question. "It was Crowley. I spoke with him."

Dean looked at him, outraged. "When were you planning on telling me this?"

"I'm telling you now."

"Yeah, because you were asked..." Dean trailed off, glancing at Matt. Dean composed himself and looked at Cas warily. "So?"

Cas took a deep breath, knowing that he couldn't put this conversation off any longer. "Crowley offered me a deal."

The look of terror in Dean's eyes said everything that could possibly need to be said in the silence. "Cas, please, tell me you didn't take it."

"I told him I'd think about it."

Matt, who did not entirely grasp the gravity of the matter, enquired, "What did he offer?"

"The colt." Cas answered, to which Dean rolled his eyes. Cas went on, "But if we never got the colt, he never got my soul. And he did offer to, uh, sweeten the deal. Protection for you, for everyone at the camp–"

"Protection  _from_  demons  _by_  demons," Dean rolled his eyes again. "Awesome. What could possibly go wrong with  _that_  genius plan? Jesus, Cas, if you'd taken it, it would have been the stupidest thing you ever did..."

"I don't agree," Cas retorted. "If I had any faith in Crowley's ability to actually get the colt without leading us into a trap, I think I would have taken it. For you to kill Lucifer, and keep you safe."

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered. "You really are an honorary Winchester..." Dean clenched and relaxed his hands around his shotgun, and Cas noticed that his hands were shaking, Dean visibly disturbed by this conversation.

"Wait," Matt sounded confused. "Why does this demon Crowley want to kill Lucifer anyway? Didn't Lucifer  _create_  all the demons?"

"Just because he created them doesn't mean he likes them," Cas replied. "They suit his purposes to serve him now and help him to eradicate humans. Crowley sees this. With humans out of the picture, Lucifer will either kill the demons or seal them all in Hell – Crowley says that the latter is possible, with a spell. He will want to rid the Earth of demons. Maybe after that the other angels would come back to face him – I don't know. It would take several years for all this to happen. There are still a lot of humans left to go, first."

"Wait a minute," Dean interjected, "Crowley was making a deal for your  _soul_? Do you even have a soul?"

Matt shot Cas a sidelong glance. "Why would you not have a soul? Angels don't have them?"

"Classically, no," Cas explained. "But as I told Dean, the nature of our universe has changed. I've changed. According to Crowley, I have a soul."

Dean was quiet for a moment before replying, "Demons lie." Cas turned to Dean and frowned at him, so Dean added, "Hey, I want it to be true. But he could have just been saying that to trick you. How can you tell whether you have a soul?"

"I sleep," Cas shrugged. "I dream. Sometimes, very rarely, but I do. If I didn't have a soul I wouldn't – in human terms. But I'm not a human, I thought perhaps it was different for me..."

"You dream?" Dean asked, though when Cas looked at him Dean just glanced at Matt and then shook his head, telling Cas to wait until they got back to camp, where they could talk privately. It was probably the least of the things they had to talk about. 


	14. Unsuffer Me

Getting back to camp for Cas involved the rigmarole of getting tested for Croatoan at the medical cabin, where Azaria was conspicuous by her absence - while Dean caught up on what had been going on in his absence from the camp.

Cleared of Croatoan, Cas made his way back from the medical cabin to the cabin he shared with Dean, wondering whether Dean would be there, whether things would be the way they were before all this.

As Cas approached his cabin he could hear Dean talking inside, and inferred that he was talking to Matt based on what he heard.

"... so if you wanna split now, we'll call it quits. There's too much shit going on for us to fight like this."

Matt sighed. "No. I'll stay, Dean. I'm... Cas is important. I get it, okay."

"And you'll do whatever he tells you?"

There was a long pause before Matt answered, "Yes. Okay." Matt cleared his throat and asked wryly, "Will you?"

From the silence that followed Cas imagined that Dean was giving Matt a glare.

Matt went on, "I'm just saying, you two need to work out what you're doing. You seem pretty pissed with him seeing as we just risked our lives saving his ass."

Dean didn't respond to that either, so Matt continued. "Whatever, I'm not gonna give you two marriage counselling. At least tell him what you're pissed about, though, 'cause I don't think he gets it."

"Of course he gets it," Dean snapped. "He's not a moron."

"I know," Matt replied. "He's not. But I had a brother a bit like him – really smart, like a total genius, but also really fucking oblivious to a lot of shit. You know, like other people's  _feelings_."

"Cas..." Dean hesitated. "Angels are different."

"Yeah, I know," Matt replied. "It doesn't really make sense to talk about him the way we talk about people I guess – I dunno. Not really area. Just  _tell_  him things, that's all I'm saying."

Cas strolled round to the end of the veranda and then loudly climbed up the steps, making enough noise for Dean and Matt to hear his approach.

Matt promptly left when Cas arrived, and Dean explained that he was going to have a shower and Cas should do the same. Dean left quickly, before they had a chance to talk, heading over to the building about a hundred yards away where they had rudimentary shower stalls in which one could wash under some warmish water. A convention of taking no more than five minutes had developed, and Cas wondered whether he would be allowed extra time considering how filthy he was. He hoped so.

Cas gathered his things and thought about what Matt had said as he walked toward the shower block, hoping no one would bother him – but he had no such luck – as Jane ran into him. "Cas!" She smiled, and put one arm lightly around his shoulders in an awkward sort of side-hug.

She smiled and they spoke briefly about what had been going on in the camp in Cas's absence, which turned out to not be a great deal, apart from a visit by the army.

"How's Risa been?" Cas asked.

"Risa?" Jane narrowed her eyes in confusion.

"Yeah." Cas replied. "What? She's my friend."

"No she isn't," Jane replied with a note of laughter in her voice which faded as it dawned on her what Cas was really talking about. "Oh, I see," she said knowingly. "You mean: 'Has Dean been screwing Risa while I've been gone?'"

"And... while I was here, before. After he and I parted company. I wasn't really paying attention–"

"No, you were screwing everything that moved." She snapped.

Cas looked dejectedly at the floor. "I regret that," he said, softly. "I was trying to hurt him."

Jane begrudgingly softened the tone of her voice. "No. I mean, I certainly haven't heard anything about it."

Cas nodded. "And..."

"And what?"

"And... you?"

"Me?" Jane asked, incredulously. "Me?"

"Yes," Cas replied, wearily, wanting this conversation to be over, even though he was the one who started it.

Jane folded her arms. "You're unbelievable." Cas frowned at her and she went on, "While you and Dean weren't even together, you did whatever the fuck you wanted. And now you want to know all about what Dean did, as if it's any of your fucking business? You're a hypocrite, you know that? And you are behaving like the worst kind of paranoid bunny-boiler..."

Cas narrowed his eyes. "I don't understand what this has to do with rabbits..."

" _Ugh_." Jane rolled her eyes. "Dean is a lot of things, Cas, but he is faithful to you, more than you are to him, as far as I know. He's completely and utterly devoted to you – everyone can see that, no matter how much he tries to hide it. Everyone except you, apparently."

"So... you're saying... you didn't sleep with Dean."

Jane sighed. "No, I didn't." She met Cas's eyes, and as far as Cas could tell, she was being honest. "I'm not gonna lie to you," she went on. "I like Dean, I do, but I know that the two of you... it's a pretty intense and screwed up situation you've got going on. I don't want to get in the middle of that. I'd... I'd rather just be Dean's friend for now, you know."

"His friend," Cas repeated, slowly.

"Yeah. I know you two aren't exactly used to having friends, but it  _can_  happen, you know. Me and him, we're friends. You and him..." she trailed off and shook her head. "I don't think there's a word for it."

Cas looked down and cracked a smile. "Anyway," Jane sighed. "No offence mate, but you smell like re-heated crap."

Cas narrowed his eyes. "I don't understand how that could possibly  _not_  be offensive–"

"Go shower," Jane waved a hand at him and began to walk away. "We'll catch up some other time."

Dean was leaving by the time Cas got to the showers, and they didn't speak. Cas wasn't sure what to say, and was sure that Dean would want whatever they talked about to stay private anyway.

Cas had to delicately peel the bandage off his shoulder, which was really kind of gross, and drop it in the trash can. In the medical cabin he had been given a replacement, but there was no point changing it before showering.

The warm water came as a relief, and Cas was glad to scrub the dirt rigorously off himself with coal tar soap that some at the camp had made until his skin was pink and sensitive but gloriously  _clean_  at last. He washed his hair twice, untangling it with his fingers, and carefully cleaned around his wound until he knew he had been in the shower for as much time as he could justify. This was the sort of thing that really made him miss being an angel; instantaneously deciding to be clean replaced with a long and labour intensive process which required  _resources_.

Altogether, it was the late afternoon, almost the evening by the time Cas made it back to his cabin to stay, finding Dean there waiting for him, sitting on a stool by the fire and eating some kind of stew out of a plastic box with a fork.

"I got you food," Dean stated, gesturing with his fork to another box perched on the side of the metal shelving unit.

"Thanks," Cas replied, sitting down on the couch to put the fresh bandage on his shoulder first of all. He did so carefully and precisely, though the wound had healed up very well. He was highly fortunate in that he never seemed to get infections, never seemed to have lasting damage from serious injuries. That was the angel in him, he supposed. He wondered whether, if Heaven were to spontaneously come back online, he would become an angel once again, or whether this was what he was now; whether he had mutated, changed, slid sideways and become a pseudo human forever. His shoulder-blades, where his wings used to be gave a twinge at that moment, and Cas winced and sat up straight.

Dean, who had finished eating, came over to stand behind him, gently massaging his back with his hands. "We're gonna find this demon – this  _Duane_  guy. But we need to come up with a plan."

"I know, Dean, I just thought he might be nearby..." Cas trailed off, and Dean didn't say anything. "We're better at hunting down demons together," Cas reassured him. "It generally involves... talking to people."

Dean chuckled and squeezed his left shoulder. "You look better," he said, changing the subject, and saying it breezily as if it were a matter of no particular importance to him.

"Yeah. Feel better," Cas replied, bringing his hand up to scratch his face. "I still need to shave..."

"Hmm." Dean brought one hand up to the side of Cas's face and brushed his fingers over the hair there. "The peach fuzz is fine. You know, if you want."

Cas smiled, took hold of Dean's hand and kissed the back of it. Dean did seem to like him with stubble, the more the better. Cas liked Dean like that too, but he couldn't help but wonder what Dean felt about his own desire, in that regard. It was an overtly masculine feature – then again everything about Cas was masculine, really. Dean wasn't just making an exception to his usual heterosexuality for Cas; there was more to it than that, Cas was sure. He had never asked Dean about his feelings for other men; a part of him thought it wasn't any of his business, and a more immature part of him didn't really want to know.

Silence fell after that, and neither of them were really sure what to say. Dean stepped away and Cas ate his food quietly while Dean unpacked things and put them away – Dean's things, away in Cas's cabin. Cas supposed that meant that Dean had deigned to return home, though he was slightly resentful of the fact that Dean had just  _decided_  this, rather than talking to Cas about it and asking him what he might think. He wanted Dean back, of course he did, but he also wanted Dean to show come kind of contrition for praying to Michael, he wanted an apology.

Cas finished his food and hazarded, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Dean replied guardedly.

"Everything."

Dean scoffed. "Sure. Okay."

"For the things I said," Cas went on, getting to his feet and facing Dean. "I didn't mean it. Dean, I was angry with you for praying to Michael. But the rest of it – I didn't mean. I don't regret any of this."

"Oh really?" Dean asked, disbelievingly. "That's why you ran off the first chance you got?"

Cas frowned. "I don't understand."

"No, you never do." He sighed. "Dammit, Cas, I know I told you you could choose what to do..."

Cas folded his arms. "Yes," he said coolly. "You gave me that  _permission_. I remember."

Dean grumbled and ran his hand over his jaw. "Why would you do this to me, dammit? You can do whatever you want – go on whatever missions you want–"

"Missions that are assigned by  _you_?" Cas raised his eyebrows.

"Missions _with other people_ ," Dean corrected, obviously frustrated. "Not on your own."

"You think I require your guidance?"

Dean looked like he wanted to hit something. "Hell,  _I_  require  _your_  guidance–"

Cas scoffed derisively. "Dean, whatever I suggest you seem to do the opposite."

"I'm not talking about  _orders_!" Dean shouted, losing all patience. "I'm talking about being in this together. Do you understand?"

"Perhaps I don't." Cas huffed. "I can take care of myself; I've proven that – not that I have to prove myself to you. If I knew why you were so angry I would apologise."

"Right," Dean spoke sarcastically again, "because as long as you recite the words, we're all good."

"Dean..." Cas frowned. "Tell me what you mean."

"This is how it always used to be–" Dean stopped himself as suddenly as he had started, and turned around, resting his head against his forearm as he leaned against the shelves.

"What do you mean, how it used to be?"

"How you would just fucking disappear!" Dean shouted suddenly, turning to face him again. "Because you were doing something important, something secret you couldn't trust me with. I would be talking to you, and you'd just zap off someplace until you felt like coming back, whenever the fuck that happened to be – and half the time you'd been stabbed or beat up or something, or I couldn't find you, or you didn't wanna be found – and the only reason–" Dean cut himself off again, ran a hand over his jaw and tried to compose himself enough to get the words out past his own anger. "Sometimes I think the only reason you and me have anything going on at all is because  _you can't leave_." Dean took a deep breath. "You can't fly anymore, you've got nowhere else to go. Because if you  _could_  leave, you would." Dean's voice broke and he turned around to face the wall.

Cas stared at him, in shock for a moment. "That's what you think?"

"Are you saying I'm wrong?" Dean half-turned around to glower at him.

Cas frowned. "How long have you thought this?"

"Am I right or what?!" Dean demanded.

"No!" Cas shouted back. "That's absurd."

"Oh,  _absurd_?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "Really? After all the times you've left, and straight-up  _told_  me how much you hate your life now. You really think... man, I just don't even know with you."

Cas shook his head, and raised his voice in response to Dean's look of exasperation. "Everything I've done has been to help you, to protect you–"

"I don't need you to  _protect_  me!"

"Then why  _do_  you need me?!"

Dean rushed across the room and pinned Cas back against the wall, smothering him with a kiss, his fingers tangled in Cas's hair to roughly hold him in place. He broke away breathing hard, his eyes boring into Cas's as if by his look he could convey his meaning – which to an extent he could. Cas saw love there, but it was tinged by anger and sadness and the pain of loss. And though Cas could see it all, he wasn't sure how he could change it, what more he could do, what more he could say, so he pulled Dean in to kiss him again.

Cas wanted to say  _I love you_  but those three words seemed so hopelessly inadequate – all the words seemed inadequate for what Dean was to him, what Dean meant to him. It was Dean who spoke first. "I need you, Cas," he took a deep breath. "Just  _because_."

"I..." Cas pressed his hands flat to Dean's back and held him closer, though that was scarcely possible. "I need you too."

Something seemed to give within Dean, some barrier that had barely been holding his emotions in before. He pulled Cas away from the wall and they stumbled together towards the bed, Cas holding Dean's head in his hands and kissing him until Dean pushed him away, and Cas let himself fall back onto the bed, Dean crawling on top of him. Dean's lips were on his immediately, smothering him with hard, needy kisses which Dean made little sounds into, whimpers and the noises of his breathing. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean's back and hitched his legs up, trying to slide himself further up the bed to lie on it properly.

Dean broke away, kneeling and sitting back on his heels, letting Cas shift up the bed. His hands flew to Cas's belt and the fastenings of his jeans, which he opened up and began to roughly pull down. Cas kicked them off from around his ankles as Dean pulled his shirt off over his head before lowering himself back down to kiss Cas again, desperate, like he was starving for it. It had been a long time, after all. Cas rolled Dean onto his back to pull Dean's pants off as well, and then fell upon him in a flurry of kisses and touches to his body, chaotic, undirected, Dean giving as good as he got. Somehow Dean ended up back on top of him, and they weren't quite at the top of the bed anymore, the pillows askew and against the side of Cas's head where he lay, breathing hard.

Dean paused, his lips parted, breathing hard, and his hungry gaze softened as he looked at Cas as if he were the most beautiful thing Dean had ever laid eyes on. Every time Cas saw that look from Dean he felt as if his heart stopped, time stopped around them and there was nothing else. Nothing but Dean's beautiful green eyes focused on him, making him feel cherished, exalted, loved. Dean smiled, the small dimples appearing above each corner of his mouth. "You, uh," he looked into Cas's eyes. "You  _do_  have really nice eyes..."

"Thank you." Cas wasn't sure of the meaning of Dean's tone of voice. "So do you."

Dean smiled and leaned down to kiss Cas's neck, sucking a trail of little marks down it. "I don't normally say stuff like this," Dean said in a low growl against his neck, "but I'm gonna fucking  _make love to you_  right now – you understand?"

Cas laughed slightly, but still took it seriously. "I understand, Dean," he replied, running his fingers through Dean's hair, freshly washed and sticking up from his head in short blonde spikes.

"Hmm..." Dean hummed against the skin of his neck and took it between his teeth, nipping as Cas's neck playfully until he reached the sensitive spot just above Cas's clavicle. There, he pressed light, teasing kisses before suddenly taking the skin between his teeth and biting, hard. Cas cried out and arched his back off the bed as the pain and pleasure shot through him. Dean licked carefully over that spot and then worked his way back up Cas's neck, sucking and biting at his skin. He was deliberately leaving marks where everyone would see; staking his claim, taking ownership of Cas, and Cas wanted him to do it. When Dean kissed him, Cas could taste the faint metallic taste of blood.

Dean ran his fingers through Cas's hair, which was soft, the way it used to be, as it had been washed, and pressed kisses to Cas's temple, then his cheek, nuzzling his face against Cas's beard. Cas smiled to himself and brought his legs apart and up so that Dean was lying between them, and he held Dean close, scraping the backs of his nails down Dean's back and kissing his shoulder, biting lightly.

Cas had his leg raised, foot planted on the bed, and while Dean moved down to kiss at Cas's chest he reached a hand down to Cas's shin, fingers trailing over the scar from one of the many times Cas had been shot, the pads of his fingers lightly drawing long, unbroken lines of Cas's skin, slipping behind his knee, and then slowly down his thigh. Cas let his legs fall open further, and Dean met Cas's eyes as his fingertips crept lower, tracing the curve of Cas's ass. Cas pulled him in for a kiss as he raised his legs up, wrapping them around Dean's waist. Dean broke the kiss and grinned, pressing his forehead to Cas's. His happiness made him look younger, more vital and alive, but the dark circles under his eyes were still there – he didn't look less tired, just as though he had forgotten all about tiredness for the time being.

Dean trailed his hand back down Cas's thigh, along the inside where his skin was most sensitive. Cas whimpered and moved his hips in response, leaning into the touch, signalling that he wanted –  _needed_  – Dean's hand on his cock, which was heavy and aching against his stomach.

"Patience, Cas..." Dean kissed his cheek and made his way down to Cas's neck again. He mumbled nonsense against Cas's skin, insistently keeping control of the situation. "Gonna show you what you mean to me..."

Cas arched his back off the bed, clutching at Dean's back. He fell back down and tried to raise his hips; he was by that point desperate to be touched. Dean chucked and then one hand was on Cas's hip, holding him down against the bed, but still not touching him where he most needed it. "Dean..." Cas ran his fingers through Dean's hair as Dean's mouth made its way down to one of his nipples. His tongue darted out over it, fast, light swipes back and forth, before he pressed his lips down on it and took the nub between them, sucking on it and continuing to tease it with his tongue inside his mouth. " _Dean_..." Cas repeated as pleasure surged through him. This felt amazing but Cas couldn't help but think that it would feel even more amazing if Dean would give this kind of treatment to his painfully hard, untouched cock. "Dean, I... I need..."

"Hmm..." Dean hummed against his skin and made his way leisurely over to Cas's other nipple, circling it with his tongue.

"I... I need you..." Cas gasped, at which point Dean closed his teeth around Cas's nipple and pulled at it gently, soothing it after with his tongue, so soft, hot and wet against Cas's skin that it was driving him mad with raw, voracious desire. "Please," he managed, in a broken voice. "I need..."

"Shh, Cas..." Dean kissed his way further down Cas's chest. His hand was still on Cas's hip, and he started to rub in soothing circles with his thumb while his mouth made its way down over Cas's stomach.

He kissed the line of Cas's hipbone to his thigh, slipping his hand under Cas's body to hold his ass, pulling him up from the bed, rolling him onto his side. "Turn over," Dean commanded gruffly, as he reached over to the nightstand to hunt for some lube, and Cas did so, raising his hips and pulling his knees under him. Dean was soon back behind him, kneading at Cas's ass with his hands, spreading him open, looking him over. Cas clung to the pillow, feeling exposed, not usually being as submissive as this but liking how it felt all the same, Dean's strong hands on him, holding him, guiding him.

Cas could dimly hear Dean breathing as he leaned in close. He pressed a kiss to the left cheek of Cas's ass before opening his mouth wide and biting it playfully, then kissing the tingling skin and making his way closer to Cas's entrance. Cas's breath caught in his throat at the first light touch of Dean's tongue – they very rarely did this, but seeing as they had both just washed Dean had evidently decided to take the opportunity. He pressed his finger to Cas's entrance, massaging it in circles until he could ease the tip inside.

"Dean," Cas sighed, as he lay there, taking it, letting Dean work him open until he added another finger, licking around his hole, using his spit as lubrication. Cas whimpered at the burn of Dean's fingers pressing into him, but still he bucked his hips back onto them, desperately needing the stimulation. Dean ran his other hand up and down Cas's back, massaging over his shoulder-blades until his fingers found Cas's prostate and rubbed over it gently, making Cas cry out and hold on tightly to the pillow, even biting it. Cas only realised then how long it had been since they had done it like this, Dean having developed a preference for taking it himself, but Cas soon remembered how good it felt, as the need to be filled started to burn within him, and he knew well how good it was going to feel once Dean was inside him. Dean gently withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his tongue, pushing it as far inside as he could, drawing back to swirl it in circles and then in one long stripe over his entrance, keeping his mouth there for a moment and licking at him. Cas gasped and whimpered in ways that were entirely embarrassing, but he didn't care.

Dean moved back and pulled at Cas's hip to get him to lie down on his back again. Cas was trembling when he did so, still acutely conscious of how Dean hadn't touched his cock yet, and at this point, Cas felt like if Dean did touch him he would lose it immediately. Kneeling between Cas's open legs, Dean slowly and carefully continued to to work Cas open, using the lube this time. He was eager but not rushed, taking his time about it and watching rapturously as Cas came undone underneath him; moaning wantonly, closing his eyes, arching his back and pressing himself down on Dean's hand.

Only then did Dean lower his head, and Cas looked down as soon as he heard Dean move. He met Dean's eyes in a silent plea and Dean kept eye-contact as he started to mouth at Cas's balls, closing his lips over one and licking at it. Cas threw his head back in a relieved groan, as Dean worked his way up to the base of Cas's dick, licking around it lightly. If Dean had wanted Cas to beg he would have – Cas would have said anything to spur Dean on by that point – but he didn't need to. Dean's tongue flat on the underside of Cas's cock he finally licked one long stripe up the entire length. Cas moaned obscenely loud at the relief, almost fearing he was going to come just from that, but trying to hold himself back.

Cas reached to touch himself and first Dean tried to stop him, until Cas insisted, only to hold himself tightly round the base of his shaft to try and delay orgasm. That made Dean smirk up at him and return his mouth to Cas's leaking cock, taking the head into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

"Dean," Cas panted. "Dean please..."

Dean pulled his mouth off Cas's cock, kissing his stomach before raising himself up, shuffling up the bed to get between Cas's legs. Dean withdrew his fingers to apply some lube to himself, then wiped his hand off on a towel, both of his hands then firmly on Cas's thighs, pushing them back and apart. Every inch of Cas's skin thrummed with a kind of electricity now, alive to every sensation, his entire body aching for Dean. Tilting his hips back as much as possible, Cas kept his gaze focused on Dean's face and rested his hand on top of Dean's. Dean paused just for a second, visibly affected by how Cas looked in that moment; fucked-out and wanton, and open and needing.

"Dean..." carried out on a breath, the word was barely audible, yet it was so obviously a plea. Cas could feel it then, the soft, slick head of Dean's cock against his entrance. He let his body relax as Dean moved forward, stretching him open, slowly sinking into him.

Dean had to take it slow as Cas accommodated him, taking a deep breath and letting himself relax more, letting Dean go deeper. When he slid home Cas threw his head back and let out a long, low moan. The sensation of fullness and completeness burned deep inside him, and Cas felt almost unbearably hot.

"Fuck," Dean gasped, lowering himself down on top of Cas to catch his lips in a kiss. He was moving inside Cas slowly, in shallow thrusts, concentrating on their kiss, plunging his tongue into Cas's mouth. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders, one hand on the back of his head as he held Dean still to press his tongue into Dean's mouth in return, before flicking over his lips, taking the lower one between his teeth.

Breaking the kiss but staying close above him, Dean kept eye-contact with Cas as he started to move in longer thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and then snapping his hips forward again until his hips were flush against Cas's body. It felt so good, so unbearably good that the raw thrill of it overwhelmed Cas's senses; he was painfully, desperately turned on. He rocked his hips to meet every one of Dean's thrusts into him, panting heavily, repeating Dean's name as Dean slowed down but pushed into him harder, making Cas feel the jolt of every thrust sear through his entire body.

Cas let his eyes and his hands wander over Dean's broad chest, pinching one of his nipples between his fingers, circling around it. Dean's heavy breathing in Cas's ear, his lips on Cas's neck, he kept up his pace. Attempting to think and control his movements was a doomed endeavour for Cas as Dean surged into him, shaking the bed underneath them on every thrust. Cas's hands flew over Dean's back, wanting to touch him everywhere at once, reaching down to his ass to push Dean's hips tight against his ass, every sharp skin-on-skin impact sending a jolt of pleasure through him. The desperation of it reminded Cas strongly on their first time together.

Cas wrapped his legs around Dean's waist and clung onto him, giving himself over to Dean completely. The only friction on Cas's dick was Dean's stomach erratically rubbing over it – which was too much and not enough at the same time. Cas was kept on a high plateau of pleasure, and although he longed to touch himself, to take himself over the edge, he didn't want the feeling to end, and he wanted himself and Dean to come together, so he bit his lip and held off, tightening his grip on Dean's shoulders and back.

Dean was completely losing control, surrendering all self-restraint as he lost himself in Cas; his kisses, his frantic grasps and caresses, the heat and tightness of his body. Dean raised himself up, hands planted each side of Cas so he could get better leverage to fuck into him hard and deep. Dean was panting by this point, his eyes screwed tightly shut, skin shining with sweat and hot to the touch as Cas slid his hands up Dean's muscled arms.

Placing one hand over the faded handprint on Dean's shoulder and one at the side of Dean's neck, Cas breathlessly watched him as Dean worked them both closer to climax. He wanted to say something but all he could do was moan and gasp and occasionally manage Dean's name, forcing himself to keep his eyes open at all times. Dean opened his eyes to look at Cas, but just for a second, and it was obvious to Cas the effect this had on Dean. After slamming hard into Cas he bucked his hips erratically, so close now.

"Oh, fuck... Cas..." Dean panted and Cas gently pulled him down. Dean obliged, resting on his forearms once more, the hot mass of his body blanketing Cas, surrounding him. They kissed breathlessly before Dean nuzzled at Cas's neck and got himself back into a steady rhythm, the moans and whimpers in his ear familiar to Cas, clear in their meaning. Finally, Cas could bring his hand to his aching cock to finally let himself fall over the edge with Dean, stroking himself fast as his other hand was splayed against Dean's back, curling his fingers until his nails dug into Dean's skin.

" _Cas–_ " Dean managed, brokenly, as he bucked hard again, and Cas knew he had Dean coming inside him. Cas immediately followed, pumping his cock and holding tight to Dean, his vision exploding into stars and the blood rushing in his ears as he spilled his come all over himself and Dean, getting his long-awaited release. He knew that the way he was tightening around Dean would make Dean's orgasm all the more intense, and Dean held onto Cas's shoulders and shook on top of him, with low, helpless moans in Cas's ear. It seemed to go on forever, Cas stroking himself, drawing the orgasm out, and Dean giving him a few more lazy, shallow thrusts as the aftershocks gripped him.

When Dean finally stilled and collapsed on top of him he let out what was almost a whimper, utterly overwhelmed and wrecked by pleasure but not wanting it to be over. Cas kept his legs around Dean's body and held him there, the aftershocks making his body spasm a little. He let Dean stay like that for a few minutes, still buried inside Cas and resting his weight on Cas's body, both of them too weak to move, a trembling, panting mess.

With great effort, laboriously, Dean eventually climbed off Cas and collapsed on the bed next to him, breathing heavily. Cas lay at his side and raised his head so that Dean could slip his arm under Cas's neck; and in familiar, co-ordinated movements they arranged themselves so that Cas's head rested on Dean's shoulder, one arm across his chest, and Dean's arm was around him, his other hand stroking Cas's hair.

"Fuck," Dean panted. "Fuck I missed you."

"And I you," Cas replied, running his hand down Dean's stomach, and continuing to the base of his cock, which had softened by then. Cas rested his hand on top of it gently and curled his fingers around it to hold it securely in his hand, which made Dean whimper.

" _Caaas,_  what are you doing to me?"

"I never got to touch you here, before you were inside me," Cas said simply, drawing his hand away from the over-sensitive flesh. "I just wanted to."

Dean let out a breathy laugh, held Cas close and nuzzled at his hair, saying affectionately, "You're really weird sometimes, you know that?"

Cas smiled. "Is that not why you like me?"

Dean went quiet. "It's one reason," he replied solemnly.

Dean relaxed against the bed and Cas relaxed against him, letting several minutes pass in comfortable silence, the kind of silence where no words were needed, and Cas wanted to go to sleep. He could tell, however, that Dean had something on his mind. Dean was still thinking, though - Cas could tell that too, and he wasn't going to try and get Dean to discuss his thoughts while his thoughts were still forming.

Cas realised suddenly that Dean still hadn't apologised about Michael, though perhaps he thought that the sex counted as an apology. Cas didn't really feel like it did; he'd apologised verbally so he wanted Dean to do the same. He kept his resentment quietly under wraps and waited to see what Dean was going to say.

"When did you have dreams?" Dean asked. "I know you had a couple, ages ago..."

"One offs, isolated incidents, I think. And they might have been chemically induced; I don't know if it counts." Cas replied, keeping his eyes closed, remembering his dream from the day before – and that one had definitely been a real dream, not the influence of any drugs. "Yesterday. I dreamed about you."

"Yeah? What happened?"

"Not a lot," Cas smiled. "It was like this. I don't think I have much imagination; my dreams are rather literal."

Dean laughed and stroked Cas's hair again. "So," Dean said slowly, "you have dreams. So maybe you have got a soul like everyone else..."

Cas wasn't really in the mood for talking about his  _soul_  as he had not worked out what he thought of it yet, at all. "Dean," Cas stroked his chest lazily, and mumbled, "Go to sleep baby."

Dean chuckled at being called  _baby_  and ignored the suggestion. "So when you die, where will you go?"

"Hmm?"

"Your soul," Dean insisted. "What'll happen to it?"

"Presumably, the same thing that happens to all human souls," Cas speculated, suddenly wide awake. "Heaven or Hell."

Cas wasn't sure which of those places he wanted to go to less.

Dean was quiet for a moment. "You'd go to Heaven, Cas," he said confidently, planting a kiss on Cas's forehead. "You're on the good side of things. You'll go to Heaven."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yes I did devote most of this chapter to a sex scene instead of the plot. Sorry not sorry.


	15. Empire

Surprisingly quickly, life at Camp Chitaqua returned to normal. Dean and Cas were back: back together, back in charge. And to everyone else they seemed to be stronger than ever – after all, Cas had risked his life in search of the colt and Lucifer, and then Dean had risked his life to get Cas back. Surely, that denoted love like nothing else possibly could.

Well, it did. But it wasn't  _love_  that was in question. 

Stocks of several crucial supplies ran critically low. Sudden hot weather and a lack of rainfall meant that the food they were growing themselves wasn't growing as well as they would like, and they were even in danger of running out of drinking water. The daily, endless grind of the practicalities of keeping around 160 people safe and well put strain on Dean and Cas like never before. Discontent and fear spread through the camp, along with a frustration which constantly simmered and could boil over at any second.  _When will this be over?_ , circulated the question, over and over, dejectedly muttered or drunkenly shouted from person to person, round and round.  _When does this end?_

Cas was of the opinion that it had already  _ended_. As soon as Lucifer took his true vessel and the other angels bailed, humanity had been ended. This was the extent of the devastation that Lucifer had wrought; he had destroyed all of what God had created, the humans that God so loved and Lucifer so despised. Some of them still lived, technically, but it was a matter of time. Lucifer was patient enough to wait for those who had survived to reach the end of their natural life-spans, if that was what it took. Cas supposed he had a natural life-span of his own now, too, though he tried not to think about it.

The demon Duane proved almost as elusive as Lucifer himself, when Dean and Cas looked for him. Many demons did seem to know who he was, but few of them knew anything about him. They had only met one who had actually met him, and Dean had spent some time with her at the abandoned prison, getting her to tell him all she knew, which proved to not be all that much.

Cas avoided Azaria for well over a week. She had left him in the middle of nowhere, after all, and he needed enough time to understand that, to let his anger with her dissipate. She was only doing what she thought was right – and how many times had Cas done terrible things because he thought it was right? He went to see her once he was sure that he could forgive her.

Azaria saw him approach the medical cabin, and the first thing she said once he was in earshot was, "Cas, I'm sorry–"

"It's okay," Cas held up his hands. "I understand. I forgive you."

"Really?"

Cas nodded. "I can't forget," he said honestly. "But I do  _forgive_  you."

"I really am sorry, Cas, I was just trying to protect those people. They needed medical attention..."

Cas nodded. "I know." Even though Cas knew, he let her talk more, let her explain herself until she felt better about it.

When it seemed like she was finished, Cas pulled her into a hug, which seemed to surprise her. She tentatively put her arms around Cas's back anyway, sighing and relaxing into it. "I've hardly slept," she said weakly into Cas's ear. "Because of the guilt, even after you came back, and you were okay."

Cas pulled away and held her by the shoulders. "Dean seems to find that drinking heavily helps with that." He said it impassively, intending it as hyperbole, even an insensitive joke, but it didn't work as either of those things. It was just awkward.

"But right now," Cas went on, "we have, uh, bigger fish to fry."

"Like Satan?"

"Close," Cas smiled. "The government." She laughed at that and Cas explained to her what he and Dean had been discussing: The army wanted more regional data to better co-ordinate their troops and their actions in containment of Croatoan, and to do this, they were utilising their militia leaders, leaders such as Dean. "We're going to set up cameras," Cas explained. "Cameras for the roads, so we can see everything that's coming. The national guard is giving them to us and guaranteeing us electricity and gas as long as we share the data with them. Dean doesn't really like it; he's always been more of a Han Solo than a... uh..." Cas couldn't come up with a contrary example of a fictional character.

Azaria shrugged. "I never watched much TV either."

They exchanged a smile, Cas bid her goodbye and went back to his cabin.

They were heading into the early summer, in the afternoon the sun was generally bright and warm. This was mostly a pleasant thing, but the practical side to Cas was concerned that it didn't rain enough, and a summer drought was the last thing they needed.

A series of bangs could be heard from the firing range. Dean had been teaching Ollie how to fire a gun, the past few days. Some of the people thought that Ollie was too young, to which Cas simply pointed out that humans learn better the younger they are and it was best that the boy learn to protect himself. It was sadly a necessity, the world being what it was.

As Cas approached the cabin he heard laughter, a woman's laughter, and the low sound of Dean's voice – so clearly Dean was not with Ollie at that particular moment. Cas felt jealousy before he felt anything else, which he tried to overcome. When he got closer he realised that it was Pamela that he had heard. Cas wanted Dean to be happy, he wanted Dean to have friends, and Pamela was clearly someone Dean already knew and he was relieved to learn that she was alive and well.

Stepping into the cabin, Cas found Pamela and Dean sat on the couch drinking beers. "Hey Cas," Dean smiled, seeming to be in a genuinely good mood for once.

Cas went over to him and Dean pulled him into his lap, which made Pamela laugh. "Just because I'm blind doesn't mean I don't know what you're doing. You two want some alone time?"

Cas exchanged a look with Dean, who looked away embarrassed. "No," Dean mumbled.

Cas settled down on Dean's lap, leaning against him, curling up close to him. It was uncomfortably hot to do so, but he liked it anyway. Dean offered him a beer, which Cas refused, for once, and then Dean and Pamela returned to their conversation. Cas mostly just listened while the two of them reminisced, leaning against Dean and letting Dean's hand gently rub his back, slipping under his shirt to touch his skin.

Neither of them had spoken of Michael, Dean's prayer and his attempt to say 'yes'. Cas had slowly come to realise that Dean never was going to say sorry because he  _wasn't_  sorry, and there was no point to them pretending as if he was. Cas couldn't stand the thought of it, so he tried to simply lock that thought away in the back of his mind and focus on other things. He knew that Dean hadn't done it to spite him or because he didn't care for him – Dean still needed to have him around, Cas was still useful enough to him one way or another. Dean was only trying to do what was right. Although Cas thought it misguided, Dean believed in it, and his intentions were good. Cas's intentions were good. Sam's intentions were always good too. They had  _all_  screwed up somewhere.

While Pamela went to the bathroom, Dean frowned at Cas, who had been very quiet. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Cas said quietly.

"You're not... jealous, are you?"

Cas laughed. "No, Dean, it's not that. I've been meaning to talk to you, and Pamela, but you first."

"Okay," Dean leaned his head back against the back of the couch and looked like he was ready to listen.

Cas was about to speak when Pamela returned, so it was only once she knew what was going on and sat back on the couch that Cas explained. "I'm thinking of, uh, turning on angel radio."

Dean blinked and regarded him carefully. "To talk to Lucifer?"

"No," Cas replied. "To talk to Sam."

Dean raised his eyebrows in alarm. "You can do that?!"

"No, I don't think so," Cas said quickly. "But with the help of a powerful psychic, and you, his brother, there is an outside chance–"

"Why the hell didn't you mention this before?!"

"Because it wasn't possible before," Cas replied, raising his voice just as Dean had raised his. "But now we have a psychic of Pamela's class, it may be worth attempting. Even with her the odds of success are almost zero, but I'm willing to try it."

"Ha," Pamela interjected. "See, Dean, the angel thinks I'm  _classy_."

Cas narrowed his eyes and tried to understand that, but Dean spoke to her, "Pamela, what do you think?"

She took a deep breath through her teeth and shrugged. "Well I don't know, but it sounds like it might be worth a shot. Cas, you think using the same sort of spells I use to contact people's siblings or close family on the other side would work? I mean, Sam is alive."

"I don't know," Cas said honestly. "But if we can talk to Sam..."

Pamela nodded. She, of course, was one of the few people who knew the truth about Sam. They talked more about the spells that they might use, and Dean was quiet throughout the conversation.

Pamela agreed to do it. "No time like the present," she said breezily.

Cas hesitated. "Aren't you...?"

"What? Afraid?"

"Yeah."

"Of Satan?" Pamela scoffed. "Nah."

Cas just looked at her in shock, wanting to say  _You should be_  while simultaneously not wanting to upset her. "The connection will be going through me," Cas said slowly, "not through you – you will be like a catalyst – so he should not be able to affect you. But... you should know, there may be some danger."

Pamela laughed and  _looked_  at Cas over the top of her sunglasses, exposing her white glass eyes. "What's he gonna do,  _blind me again_?"

Cas laughed before he could stop himself, and she rested her hand on his shoulder. "Okay. I'll go prepare. I'll see you in a couple hours."

* * *

While Pamela was gone to make her own preparations, which Cas assumed involved some kind of mediation, Cas sat down on the floor to meditate as well.

Dean watched him from the couch, drinking more. "Does that really help?"

"Yes," Cas replied. "You should try it. There's no trick to it, I could easily teach you."

"Nah," Dean drank a large gulp of beer. "I don't have time."

"You should sit and meditate for twenty minutes every day," Cas replied, closing his eyes. "Unless you are too busy. Then you should sit for an hour."

Dean was quiet for a moment before he replied. "You read that somewhere?"

"Yes," Cas replied. "In the book you got me. For Christmas. Now shut up, I'm trying to meditate."

Dean laughed and left Cas alone after that.

* * *

It seemed to be no time at all before Pamela arrived, and the three of them set themselves up for a kind of séance.

They sat in a circle on the floor around a bowl of burning herbs, surrounded by candles and sigils. Pamela sat on Castiel's right and took his hand, and Dean completed the circle.

Pamela recited incantations like those she might use to contact deceased loved-ones, and Castiel opened himself up to receiving telepathic signals from other angels. It was a pathway that had been closed for so long that opening it again seemed very strange, and made Cas feel vulnerable and exposed - if his mind was like his cabin then it was as if one of the walls was gone, exposing everything within to the elements and prying eyes. He had become very much accustomed to his human condition of being alone with his thoughts, and the idea of letting someone else in, especially if it was Lucifer, seemed abhorrent.

At first, nothing happened. Cas called out to Sam, and then, begrudgingly, to Lucifer. It would be Lucifer he would have to find and speak to first, then bypassing him and speaking to Sam, if he possibly could.

"Oh. Hello Castiel." Lucifer greeted him with his angelic voice; the voice that Cas could understand, as could Pamela, though Cas wasn't sure whether Pamela was able to listen in.

Castiel frowned and winced as an icy tension coiled itself around his body, seeming to lock all of his muscles in place. It took Cas a moment to realise that that was being exacerbated by his own fear.

Being linked with another angel like this was a kind of intimacy that was unparalleled by anything else, the conversation they would be having underpinned by a deeper connection. It was as if both their consciousnesses were pressed together, subconsciously exchanging other information the way humans exchanged information through body language – but this was far more intense than that.

"Lucifer," Cas gasped, and speaking made his jaw hurt, as well as his neck and his head. Even though he and Lucifer were, in a sense locked together, at the same time, keeping up this connection felt like a physical feat such as holding up a great weight in precarious balance. Cas felt frozen in place and as if he was trying to move despite being held where he was by ice.

"Ah!" Lucifer went on. "You're not here to see me. It's the  _vessel_  you're in touch with. That's rude, wouldn't you say? I live here now."

Cas did not reply. This was Lucifer trying to distract him, trying to mess with his mind so that Cas would get embroiled with an argument against Satan and use up all his energy that way before he got close to Sam. "Sam?" Cas called out as loudly as he could, and dimly registered Dean's hand tightening around his own.

"Sammy? Oh, Sammy?" Lucifer called too, then addressing Cas. "I haven't seen him lately but I think he's still in here somewhere..."

A moment of silence passed, and the next time Lucifer spoke it did not entirely register with Cas as a voice, rather as a high-pitched whine; the way humans heard angels, and Cas had to decipher it. "He's gone, Castiel. He and I used to talk..." Lucifer's voice crackled and faded in and out, as if Cas were turning a dial on a radio, looking for another station. "Until," Cas caught Lucifer say, "he spoiled that for both of us..."

A second voice called to him then, as if off at some great distance. "Cas?"

"Sam?"

Dean's grip on Cas's hand tightened and he said something, but Cas couldn't focus on that. Cas could sense Lucifer's  _smirk_. "Oh, Sam,  _there_  you are."

"Cas please," Sam's voice called out to him. His voice sounded muffled and distorted and Cas found it hard to understand what he was saying. "Get the colt, get close enough. Kill him, Cas, please. Kill me, it doesn't matter."

"It... it does matter," Cas replied weakly, the pressure and the strain of maintaining this connection becoming too much to bear. "We're trying, Sam."

"I need to talk to Sam," Dean interjected, and his voice sounded loud and over powering yet distorted and far off all at once. "Tell him... tell him..."

"Dean's here," Cas gasped, holding Dean's hand tightly. Cas could feel the connection slipping away from him.

Sam's voice was barely audible. "Dean..."

A laugh, not Sam's laugh, somehow inherently  _Lucifer's_ laugh cut into Cas like a knife inside his mind, and just like that the connection was severed. Cas tried to curl into himself, leaning forward, abruptly letting go of Dean and Pamela's hands and bringing them to his head as it ached from the feedback. He shut off  _angel radio_  – he had to.

"Cas? Cas?" Dean held him by the shoulders. "What's he saying to you?"

"He's gone," Cas said vaguely, falling back onto his side, propping himself up on one arm and vomiting onto the floor as the whole thing took its toll on his body.

"Get it back, come on," Dean tried to pull Cas to sit. "Sam..."

"Dean, look at him," Pamela shouted. "I'm blind and even I can see it. He's fried. He can't."

"Cas, please, dammit..." Dean held Cas's shoulders, but Dean was not truly asking him for anything more. "What did Sam say to you?"

"Dean!" Pamela pushed him back. "Give him a minute, jeez." Her hand was on Cas's shoulder then, and it was only when Cas was grounded by someone else that he realised how violently he was shaking – shivering, in fact, as he felt as though he'd had ice water thrown over him. Pamela held him up, and he leaned against her trying to blink the spots out of his vision, fighting to get his breath back as his heart pounded.

Dean got up, for the sake of something to do, and cleaned up where Cas had thrown up. Cas wanted to apologise, but he couldn't seem to get himself to speak, the words not reaching his mouth – until suddenly a string of apologies rushed out of him all at once, and he rambled for almost a minute before running out of breath, and then felt as if he might pass out.

"Cas," Pamela said soothingly. "I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you've really gotta shut up, darling."

Cas nodded against her shoulder and closed his eyes, drifting out of consciousness, not quite processing what was going on as Dean scooped him up and lifted him onto the bed. The cabin faded in and out of focus and from light to darkness, sounds came and went, people moved around him, people spoke around him, and then, all was quiet.

* * *

When Cas woke up it was dark, though Cas wasn't sure at first whether it was really dark or he just couldn't see properly. The familiar aroma and crackling sound of the fire infused the cabin, and Dean was cooking something over it – eggs, Cas realised by the smell.

Cas let his head fall to one side and the internal scenery of the cabin rushed and swirled around him until it settled down. He could see Dean, then, sat on a stool by the fire and holding a pan over it, his back to Cas. It was only then that Cas realised that the covers had been pulled up over him, and a blanket laid on top of that. He felt hot.

"Dean?"

Dean turned around suddenly and set the pan on the rack above the fire, rushing over to him. "Hey, you thawed out, Captain America? You've been out a few hours..."

"Hot," Cas mumbled, pushing the blankets down, only realising then that he had hot water bottles under each arm.

Dean held Cas down by his shoulders and explained, "You were cold. Freezing. Your body temperature was low, like you had hypothermia or something. Maybe you still do." Dean picked up a thermometer and moved it towards Cas's mouth, which led to a moment of pushing and cursing at each other until Cas agreed to take his own temperature.

"It's Lucifer," Cas told Dean, handing the thermometer back to him. "He burns cold, as it were."

"How the hell does that affect you through angel radio?" Dean frowned at the thermometer. "That doesn't make sense."

"I don't know, Dean," Cas replied irritably. "Lucifer is very powerful. And  _radio_  is not an appropriate word to use for what we did, it's more like telepathy – Lucifer had some connection to me and he exploited it; he directed his power at me." Cas glanced back towards the fire. "What are you cooking?"

"Toast." Dean replied, getting up and returning to it. "And eggs, if you want 'em. I uh, I also made you coffee, but then Pamela said you don't give someone with hypothermia coffee."

"She's right," Cas settled himself down on his right side and curled up under the blankets. "You shouldn't. Because of the caffeine."

"Huh." Dean laughed. "I got hypothermia once. When I was a kid. Dad gave me coffee."

"Nothing about that surprises me," Cas replied flatly.

Dean shot him a look but didn't say anything more on that subject.

Cas picked up the thermometer and looked at it, but the mercury was sinking back down to room temperature by that point, at least, Cas hoped so. "So am I okay now?"

"Yeah," Dean smiled. "Of course. You've come back from worse than a little cold." Cas smiled and got himself more comfortable in the mound of blankets, though he threw the hot water bottles out. Dean was pretending that he hadn't been worried, though Cas knew that he had been.

By the time Dean came over to the bed, Cas had propped himself up on his side, arm tucked under his head.

"Dude, I got like a thousand pillows for you and you lie on your arm..." Dean leaned over him to try and slip a pillow under Cas's head, which Cas fought against playfully, pushing Dean's hands away until he fell into the gap between the pillows at the centre of the bed and sank down into it, Dean throwing the other pillow down on top of him pretending to be annoyed. Cas found his way above it again and moved over slightly to one side of the bed, Dean's side, to be closer to him. He settled down and stilled in a comfortable position, propped up by pillows this time, pulling the cover up over his shoulder tightly.

Dean smiled at him but looked away nervously.

"What?"

"Nothing..." Dean shook his head. "You just, you look... you know on those nature documentaries, when you see the animals in their burrows, like bears or foxes or whatever..."

Cas smiled. "You're saying I look cute?"

Dean rolled his eyes and pushed the plate across the bed to him. "Eat your damn toast."

Dean got up from the bed then to clean up everything that remained by the fire, returning with a plate of eggs. He gathered some of the egg onto his fork and held it out. "Want some?"

Cas narrowed his eyes, with only a look, communicating to Dean  _Not if you're going to feed them to me like that_ , which made Dean laugh, shrug, and eat the morsel himself.

Some time passed in a fairly comfortable silence, and Cas propped himself up to sit, having more to eat.

"Dean, uh, about Sam..."

Dean shook his head. "Don't."

"Can I tell you what he said?" Cas pressed him. "You asked."

Dean sat in silence and looked away, which was the closest he got to letting Cas start a Sam conversation. "He, uh," Cas hesitated. "He encouraged us to get the colt, to stop Lucifer." Cas explained, which was tactful by his standards, seeing as repeating Sam's true words could only make Dean upset. "He has accepted his fate."

Dean nodded. "Accepted it. Right."

"That he has to die for Lucifer to die–"

"Alright you don't need to spell it out!" Dean barked.

Cas breathed deeply through his nose and let a moment pass. "We need to talk about finding Duane."

"We're looking out for him," Dean replied. "But he's an elusive bastard. He sticks close to Lucifer all the time, and you know what trying to find Lucifer is like. Lucifer has other top demons that he sends out, but not this guy."

"Other demons like Meg," Cas pointed out. He wanted to come up with a solution, any solution. "If we can find Meg–"

"We're not going after Meg," Dean replied definitively. "She and Crowley dicked us over, we lost three soldiers, you barely got out and you broke your foot. Not again."

Cas narrowed his eyes. "I really don't think Crowley and Meg were working together last year."

"You mean you believe that Crowley wanted to give us the colt?"

"I don't know," Cas sighed. "Maybe. But Meg is a Lucifer loyalist, and Crowley is hunted by Lucifer–"

"He's a demon, she's a demon," Dean insisted. "All demons are out to dick us over, Cas, whether they're working together or not. The whole thing was probably a scam to try to kill us – probably still is with this latest thing of Crowley offering you a deal. That's more likely than Crowley offering to help us out of the goodness of his demon heart, don't you think?"

Cas held up his hands as if conceding that Dean was right, but in truth, he really wasn't sure.

Dean sighed. "If we have anything to do with Meg, then we sure as hell don't have anything to do with Crowley. Or anyone else. Just her. She's..." Dean looked at Cas carefully. "She's pretty dangerous."

" _We're_  dangerous."

Dean laughed at that and clenched his hands together. "We go in strong or we don't go in at all. She's not usually even that hard to find, there's just generally no point to it. She's got her shit together. We're not gonna lose any more people 'cause of her. Definitely not you." Dean seemed to have said that last sentence quite accidentally, and shifted where he sat on the side of the bed.

Cas pushed back the covers and went to get up.

"Hey," Dean held his shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"I have to pee."

"Oh," Dean smiled and let Cas go. Cas rolled his eyes and hauled himself out of bed, a little unsteady on his feet but mostly feeling recovered. He scratched the back of his neck and padded over to what passed for their bathroom, cleaning his teeth to get the bad taste out of his mouth too.

Cas hesitated about going back into the bedroom because he could hear that Dean was talking to someone, and Cas couldn't really be bothered to talk to anyone. After a moment he recognised the other voice as being Pamela, who was apparently concerned about Cas's well-being. Cas was surprised by that, considering that her first contact with him had blinded her horribly. While Cas didn't truly feel  _responsible_  for that, he assumed that she would hold him responsible and would entirely understand her doing so. But perhaps she had forgiven him. She certainly seemed to have adapted well to her blindness and was the kind of person who took things in her stride.

When Cas finally went back to bed, after Pamela had left, Dean bundled him up in the covers and kissed him on the forehead. Then he smiled shyly before kissing Cas again, covering Cas's face with kisses to his temples, his cheeks, the end of his nose, and when Cas closed his eyes Dean lightly kissed his eyelids too.

Cas smiled and his hands found Dean's shirt under the covers, pulling him closer. "Dean, I have no idea what you're doing but I'm enjoying it."

Dean chuckled and settled down next to him. He recounted his conversation with Pamela and Cas listened, and let Dean talk about their plans relating to the national guard and the camp's supplies, too. Dean seemed to think better when he could say things aloud, and with Cas's occasional feedback and suggestions Dean could work out more clearly what exactly he was going to do. He sat up for a while on the bed and wrote some things down on a scrap of paper.

Cas continued lying down, closing his eyes and putting his arm over Dean's bare legs under the covers. His hand strayed higher and higher until the side of his hand nudged Dean's groin.

Dean hummed and ran his fingers through Cas's hair, which was getting problematically long. "Get a haircut," Dean said affectionately. "Hippie."

"Don't call me that," Cas retorted, in good humour.

"I'm kidding," Dean replied, putting down the paper he was writing on. "I'm over trying to label you."

"A wise choice." Cas moved away, rolled onto his stomach and stretched himself out, like a cat.

Dean moved to lie down next to Cas. Cas turned his head to the side where he lay on his stomach, and Dean lay at his side, one of his legs resting on top of Cas's.

"Listen, Cas," he began, slowly. "I've gotta say this, about – you know, Michael-gate. When I hit you." He cleared his throat and looked away, embarrassed. "You know I'm sorry, right?"

Cas just blinked at him. "Of course. It's not as if I've never hit you."

"No, it's not. It's not okay." Dean said seriously. "This... this, between us, this is pretty screwed up."

"Everything is screwed up," Cas shrugged.

Dean ran his fingers through Cas's hair and pressed his face to it. "We can't fight each other, you and me. Not ever again. If we don't have each other's backs..."

"Then we have nothing," Cas finished.

Dean nodded.

"The angels are gone, Dean."

Dean took a deep breath. "I know."

"So the matter of praying to them..." Cas hesitated and clenched his jaw, trying not to sound confrontational. "It's a moot point. It's just you and me from now on."

Dean looked back at him solemnly, and rubbed Cas's back with his hand. "Yeah," was all he had to say, finally. "I know."

Cas closed his eyes. "We  _do_  have each other's backs." Cas assured him.  _But not much else_.


	16. I Miss You

_Cas sat down on a park bench, overlooking a duck pond. Children were playing somewhere behind him, but Cas wasn't paying attention to them, for once. Just to the ducks. A female led a train of chicks along the edge of the water, trying to introduce them to it, convince them to swim._

“ _Hey Cas,” Sam said, from next to him._

“ _Hello Sam,” Cas replied, amiably._

_They sat in silence for a long time before Sam spoke again. “You do know you're dreaming, right?”_

_Cas suddenly sat up straight and turned to look at him, blinking in confusion._ Of course I'm dreaming _– Cas wasn't sure how he hadn't been aware of that from the start._

_The Sam in Cas's dream looked older than last time Cas had seen him five years ago – but Sam looked to have aged by_ more _than five years. He was tired and thin, bags under his eyes, slumped back on the bench with an utterly defeated posture._

“ _Sam?” Cas wanted to reach out to him, wanted to hug him, but Sam seemed distant, and was not looking at him, but out onto the pond. “Sam? Is this really a dream, or am I talking to you?”_

_Sam smiled weakly. “You can't talk to me Cas. I'm dead.”_

_Cas looked away, only to realise then that they found themselves in a cemetery – the duck pond and the children playing in the distance gone, and replaced with silence._

“ _How could you let this happen, Cas?” Sam asked, and when Cas turned back to him that time he came face-to-face with a corpse, dead eyes glassy and not focused on him. Cas tried to get to his feet to step away, but only fell to the ground in front of the bench._

“ _Sam,” he managed weakly, but they were somewhere else now, the ground sinking under him as if it might swallow him up, in a desert of black ash, pitch black sky with lightning storms above._ This is Hell, _Cas realised, dimly. Cas had been to Hell when he saved Dean, and there were parts of it like this, to torment souls by making them wander a seemingly infinite desert; Castiel remembered this. “Sam please–”_

_Sam was alive this time, and young, and immediately in front of him kneeling on the ground, his hands fisted around Cas's shirt. “You're the angel,” Sam said, his voice and his young face full of wonderment and endless gratitude, which turned hollow and sarcastic with what he said next: “You're the angel. And you brought all of this.”_

“ _Sam,” Cas laid his hands over Sam's, and found that they were cold. “Sam please–”_

_Sam leaned in close to Cas and spoke in a growl. “You're the angel, and you brought the apocalypse. You made it impossible for Heaven to win, your doubt, your disobedience, your pride, your lust and selfishly falling in love with a human – this was all you, Castiel.”_

“ _No,” Cas gasped, feeling tears stinging the corner of his eyes. “Sam, I'm sorry, Sam–”_

 

“Cas!”

Cas's eyes flew open as he lurched suddenly into wakefulness. He lashed out in the dark, taking fast shallow breaths, not sure where he was, or who he was with.

“Cas, it's me, it's Dean.”

Strong arms enveloped Cas's body and held him still, and Cas just tried to get his breath back, blinking as he tried to see the inside of their cabin through the black of night.

“You were having a nightmare,” Dean said in his ear.

“No,” Cas rambled, still feeling confused and disoriented. “No, I was in Hell, with Sam.”

Dean tensed next to him. “Yeah, that sounds like a nightmare. It's okay, Cas, it wasn't real, it's okay.”

“It was real,” Cas replied dumbly, not at all used to dreams, still half asleep and having no framework for how to process any things that he remembered as having happened to him as not being 'real'. “Sam spoke to me.”

Dean ran his hand through Cas's hair. “Sam speaks to me too,” Dean said, his voice so low that it was almost inaudible. “In nightmares.” Dean's voice broke and Cas felt a drop of moisture touch his cheek from where Dean was crying, and this was the kind of thing that could only pass between them in the dark, in the space between sleeping and waking, like half-remembered dreams.

“I know...” Dean sighed heavily. “I know he's like your brother too. And after you talked to him, you will dream about him. You spoke to him. I... I dreamed about him too.”

Cas just lay there in silence and let his breathing return to normal as he thought about what Dean had said. Dean didn't like to talk about his nightmares, or his dreams. Dean didn't like to have dreams at all if he could possibly medicate them away.

And Cas could finally see why.

* * *

The next morning Cas only half-remembered his dream, but he did remember what Dean had said – though it was difficult for him to be sure that he hadn't dreamed that too, perhaps when he went back to sleep. He didn't want to make Dean talk about it. Dean asked him if he wanted to talk about the dream, and Cas said that he didn't. That was the end of that and there was nothing else to say.

They weren't always quite sure how to be around each other at that time; at the avoidance of fighting Cas got the impression that they were talking less than before, which in itself could be bad. But they hadn't argued for a while. It actually felt weird to  _not_  argue, and Cas felt something similar to that nagging, sinking feeling at the back of his mind that he got when he knew he was forgetting something.

Dean was exceptionally quiet, and didn't get up from the bed for a long time. He had his eyes closed, but he was not asleep. Dean's discipline to get up early and get things done was one of the few things that could be consistently relied upon.

“Dean, are you alright?”

Dean nodded and seemed to suddenly come back to himself, opening his eyes and letting his head fall to the side, looking over at Cas. “Yeah.” 

Cas was unconvinced, but spoke normally anyway. “Who is it you're seeing today?”

“Sergeant Baker,” Dean grumbled. “About these cameras we're gonna set up for the army. I don't like it – but we get electricity, gas, water. And we need it. We gotta do it, right?”

“Yes,” Cas agreed. Dean was looking for his reassurance, his validation, and Cas did agree anyway. “But we don't have to like it. The sergeant – you don't trust him, do you?”

Dean scoffed. “I trust him about as far as I can throw him.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “How would that distance correspond to how much you–”

Dean groaned and pulled the pillow over his head, his reply muffled. “It's a figure of speech.”

When Dean pulled the pillow off he looked at Cas affectionately and smiled. He got up then, patting Cas on the shoulder and getting dressed, and for a moment Cas thought that maybe Dean was okay.

The summer day was hot already, and the sweat on Cas's forehead made his hair stick to his skin, and it had got so long by that point that it sometimes bothered Cas by going near his eyes. He spent a few moments trying to push it to one side, then pushing it up where it stood up from his head in a series of tufts pointing in various angles. Dean saw it and laughed at him.

“You need a haircut, man,” Dean grinned. “No more excuses. It'll take like five minutes; we got time.”

“Fine,” Cas sighed, agreeing to go. He hated having his haircut for several reasons: he didn't generally like people touching him outside of a sexual context who weren't Dean, he didn't like having to make idle conversation, and all in all he didn't like the reminder that he was human, having to see the strands of keratin his body expended energy on growing against his will shorn off him to land on the floor. It seemed wasteful, tedious, depressing. Then again, Cas shaved once or twice a week and he had generally stopped thinking about that and let it become just another routine chore that he could tolerate. He supposed he could do this too.

It wasn't so bad once he got it over with, and the girl cut his hair short so he wouldn't have to come back for a long time, a few months, perhaps. In the heat of the summer he wouldn't want to have long hair. Cas speculated as to whether he would let it grow over the autumn and then how long he might let it get in the winter – and then he suddenly didn't feel at all sure as to whether he would live that long.

“It looks good,” Dean caught Cas's attention and ran his hand through Cas's hair until it stood up from his head. “I like your hair like this.”

“Thank you,” Cas replied. It hadn't occurred to him that Dean really had any opinions about his hair and how it looked. Cas peered in the mirror and looked at himself. He looked younger, somehow, and obviously neater and as though he had his shit together. Then again, Cas wasn't in the habit of looking in mirrors so he didn't know whether this was any great change from before.

“Come on,” Dean pulled on Cas's arm, leading him back to their cabin.

“Dean, we have to–”

“We've got time,” Dean assured him, struggling to keep the smile off his face as he led Cas across camp holding his wrist. Dean would never let Cas hold  _his_  arm and lead him through the camp, but Cas didn't care a damn about how it looked for Dean to do that with him. He was tempted to hold Dean's hand but didn't want to spoil this – whatever this was that they were doing.

They got back to the cabin, and Dean closed the door and pushed Cas back against it. Cas opened his arms and wrapped them around Dean as Dean's body met his, and Dean stole a kiss, pressing himself against Cas. It was a pleasant surprise to see Dean like this; happy, enthusiastic, and for them to have sex for the pure fun of it.

After a few minutes of kissing and groping and pushing up against each other, Dean smiled mischievously and sank to his knees in front of Cas, his hands on Cas's belt buckle, unfastening it and his jeans.

Cas kept his hands on Dean at all times, on his shoulder, in his hair or at the back of his neck, and watched as Dean pulled Cas's erection free of his underwear and stroked it with his hand, looking it over with apparent rapture. Dean glanced up at Cas and the green of his eyes seemed brighter than usual. He was in no mood to tease, and moved forward to suck at the end of Cas's dick. Dean moaned around it and closed his eyes, moving as far forward as he could, greedily taking it into his mouth and sucking on it hungrily.

Cas panted and repeated Dean's name, watching as Dean let himself get carried away in sucking Cas off for several minutes until he had to pull off temporarily just to  _breathe_. Dean pumped Cas's erection with his hand, taking a deep breath and immediately resuming his actions, taking Cas to the back of his throat and groaning in relief, as if having Cas's cock in his mouth was the best damn thing he had ever experienced.

Cas threw his head back against the door, savouring the wet heat of Dean's mouth surrounding him, feeling Dean's eager tongue licking at the underside of his cock and swiping over the head as Dean lapped up the precome. Cas still marvelled at the simple yet life-affirming pleasure that he and Dean could give each other, and this one of those moments when he was glad to be human, glad to be in their cabin, glad of everything. Cas held the back of Dean's neck and lightly ran his fingers up and down over Dean's nape, raking his nails up through Dean's short hair and holding the back of his head. Cas closed his eyes and lost himself in a world of pure sensation; the way Dean's mouth surrounded him and pulled him in, the tightness of Dean's lips sliding up and down his length, and the sounds that Dean was making, wanton noises of pleasure which vibrated through Cas.

Taking hold of Dean's hair Cas guided Dean's movements, encouraging him to go faster, because Cas was getting close, his pleasure getting ahead of him. Dean looked up at him keenly but stopped moving, and Cas realised what Dean was encouraging him to do. Cas kept firm hold of him and started to move his hips, thrusting into Dean's mouth at his own pace. He was careful not to go too deep, but bucked his hips fast until he was on the edge, and Dean's hand was on Cas's hip then, pushing him back against the door and keeping him still. Dean resumed the movements of his mouth, sucking hard as he pulled back, drawing Cas's orgasm to the fore.

Cas breathlessly warned Dean that he was about to come, and Dean replaced the movements of his mouth with those of his hand, closing his eyes, ready and waiting – and in the next breath Cas came, shooting stripes of his come all over Dean's face. Dean slowed the movements of his hand and kept the head of Cas's cock resting against his lower lip, the last of Cas's come rushing straight into his waiting mouth. Dean closed his mouth to swallow, leaving a little come smeared over his full lips, flushed red from sucking Cas off. Cas whimpered at the sight, a final, weaker spurt escaping him. Dean opened his eyes and looked up at Cas playfully, parting his lips over the head of Cas's cock, licking up every drop and then swallowing it down.

He got to his feet to stand in front of Cas, splashes of come still on his face, looking thoroughly debauched and thoroughly beautiful. There was a drop of come on his eyelashes above his right eye, and he instinctively brought his hand up to wipe it away, but Cas caught Dean's wrist with his hand to stop him. He pulled Dean closer and carefully licked the come away with his tongue. He then pulled Dean in for a kiss and moved on to his cheek to lick up the rest of the come himself.

Dean inhaled sharply. “I don't even know why I find it so hot that you do this...”

Cas pulled Dean's hips close to him so that his erection nestled in the inner dint of Cas's thigh while Cas licked up the other side of his face. “I don't know either,” Cas admitted. “I just want to–” Dean cut him off with a kiss, pushing his tongue into Cas's mouth and grinding slowly against him.

Cas broke the kiss only to look down and reach between them, unfastening Dean's jeans properly to wrap a hand around his erection, stroking it in time with Dean's breathing. Dean sighed and relaxed against Cas resting his head on Cas's shoulder. He pulled at Cas's shirt, wordless little pleas for something more half escaping him.

“I'll make love to you later Dean,” Cas promised.

Dean gasped and tightened his grip around Cas's shoulders, and Cas could swear that he was close already. Dean brought one hand up to Cas's hair, but he couldn't tangle his fingers in it the way he used to. He ran his hand through it, pulling at it and then stroking it, holding Cas close to him.

Cas's dick gave a painful twitch of interest at all this, and he still felt giddy from the after effects of his own orgasm, and his mind ran riot with the heady excitement of it all, especially the prospect of going again and being inside Dean when he did. Cas murmured, “You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

Dean nodded and buried his face against Cas's neck, making a wordless noise of agreement and kissing and biting at the skin just at the juncture with Cas's shoulder. Cas kissed him on the forehead and the cheek, holding him close, stroking his cock faster. “I know how you want me inside you, Dean. And I'll give it to you.”

“Fuck,” Dean mumbled against Cas's skin. “Fuck, give it to me– Cas!” Dean's hand pulled at Cas's hair as his body tensed and he came, his release covering Cas's hand and the bottom of his shirt. Cas kept holding Dean tightly while he got his breath back, slumped against Cas, panting, his head resting on Cas's shoulder. Cas nuzzled his face against Dean's hair and appreciated the closeness and the warmth of being with him like this, in the afterglow, and let Dean rest his weight on him.

* * *

It was only a few moments later that the national guard arrived, so Cas and Dean had to quickly get dressed and go out to meet them. Sergeant Baker made some quip about being glad to find Dean present this time, and Cas remembered that the last time the army had been around, Dean had been out searching for Cas. Dean didn't address the matter.

There was something exciting for Cas about knowing that Dean had been on his knees sucking his cock only a few minutes ago and now he was strutting around barking orders and having everyone think he was a paragon of manliness – not that there was anything unmanly in his and Cas's activities, of course, but Cas knew that Dean's opinion was different, that there was still a part of him that was ashamed of it, that he wanted to keep it a secret. Not that it was a well-kept secret at all. It was a kind of open secret; something that everyone knew but never discussed.

Cas had to concentrate on their work for a while, as Sergeant Baker explained what the set up was going to be, and what they were going to use the data for. Cas caught Dean's eye half way through their meeting, however, and they exchanged a small, private smile. The upshot of the meeting was that they agreed to spend the next few days setting up the cameras and arranging to share the data with the national guard via their satellite dish - hopefully so they would have a better idea of what was going on around them and could safeguard their perimeter. 

Many of the soldiers, who were waiting for these arrangements to be made, looked bored and were standing around talking. Joining the army or the national guard was the best way to keep oneself safe in America at that point, so plenty had signed up who never otherwise would have. The government couldn't truly afford to pay for the army that they had – not that money really worked anymore either – so they didn't recruit many more people. Instead, they recommended that anyone who was reasonably fit and might be able to handle a gun should join a militia, such as the militia that Dean had found himself leading.

There was some talk of bringing in a dozen people on a bus, for  _Dean's militia_ , but Dean insisted that Camp Chitaqua did not have the space or resources, and argued with the sergeant about this for quite some time.

Cas waited outside in the shade and the fresh air, where he was quickly approached by four soldiers who were all looking at him curiously.

“Is it true you're an angel?” One of them asked.

Cas narrowed his eyes at them and suppressed a smirk, doing his best to look non-plussed. “I'm sorry, is that a flirtation?”

The man frowned at him. “What's your name? Your  _real_  name.”

“Castiel Winchester.”

“What kind of a name is Castiel?”

“You can call me Cas. Most people do.”

The man frowned some more before introducing himself as Johnny and trying to cajole more conversation and information out of Cas, with very little success.

“You're not much of a conversationalist, are you?”

Cas shrugged. “Depends who you ask.”

“You just don't like us?”

Cas shrugged again.

“I get it.” Johnny grinned. “You don't  _trust_  us, is that it?”

“I trust you about as far as I can throw you,” Cas said, confidently.

The soldiers merely laughed and rolled their eyes, but they seemed to get what Cas was saying, at least. Cas mimicked and recited, but he did not always truly understand. It didn't seem to matter.

They were interrupted then, by the return of a scouting party that had travelled up the road. The sergeant came out, and there was some confusion while this group spoke to the him, and Dean followed, insisting on finding out what was going on as soon as possible.

Sergeant Baker explained, “One of our soldiers caught sight of some folks up ahead. He recognised one of them. Said she's a demon, called Meg.”

Dean and Cas looked at each other.

“That means something to you, then?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “Can we talk to him?”

The sergeant nodded and led Dean and Cas over to a truck, where a man was sat on the tailgate, hunched over, both hands around a bottle of water. When the sergeant told the man, whose name was Jim, to tell Dean and Cas about the demon, the Jim's eyes widened and Cas could even tell that he was shaking slightly. Jim recounted exactly what he had seen, which was Meg and at least six others, presumably demons too, hiding out further up the road. Cas took his fear as indication that he had encountered Meg before and was appropriately traumatised, so they moved away from him to talk more about her.

Cas held onto Dean's arm. “Dean, we need to get to Meg.”

Dean looked at him carefully and pulled his arm away. “Cas, we agreed. If we go after her we go prepared.”

“I know,” Cas nodded. “We  _are_  prepared. We're not exactly short of people here. Let's go.”

“Wait,” Dean grabbed Cas's arm. “Just think a minute.” Dean let go and drew his brows together, looking back to Sergeant Baker. “They could still be there tomorrow.”

Sergeant Baker shrugged. “Dunno. Guess they could. I was thinkin'... they could be there for us. Planning to ambush us when we drive away.” 

“Then you drive the other way.”

“It's a detour of twenty miles, we've barely got the gas–”

“And you won't have your lives if Meg gets to you,” Dean insisted. “Or you will, and you'll wish you didn't. She's not your regular hired goon.”

The Sergeant held up his hands. “If you say so. We'll go around.”

* * *

The national guard indeed took Dean's advice, and steered clear of the demons.

Very early the next morning, well before dawn, Dean, Cas, and eight other soldiers set off from the camp to go to Meg's location. They intended to capture her - alive, and there was some dispute as to whether it would be best to kill her in the event of not being able to capture her. Cas decided that no one was going to die to capture Meg; and self-defense and defense of each other was the priority. Dean, not to put too fine a point on it, did not agree, but nevertheless they didn't  _publicly_  argue over it. The mission was hastily thrown together and they had to do their best to make it work. 

It was only when they got there and got out of their trucks that they saw they had someone extra along for the ride; seventeen-year-old Ollie, who sat quite stoically on the tailgate and stated plainly that he was going to _be part of the mission_. Dean had no time to argue it with him, and no time to make a round-trip back to camp. They needed to begin to execute their plan before daybreak, so, reluctantly, Dean allowed Ollie to stay. Risa tried to argue with him about it, but didn't get much of a chance.

From the woods, they sized up the building: an old logging plant, long closed down. They then set to keep extremely quiet while they laid out a ring of salt around the entire site – not enough to trap the demons there permanently, but enough to give them all enough time to get away and get back to camp, which was only about fifteen miles away, after all.

Ollie helped with that, and after it was done, Dean insisted that he stayed outside the salt line and in the truck. Reluctantly, Ollie conceded and swore that he would. As Dean couldn't spare someone to babysit him, they were forced to take his word for it and go on with the mission as they had planned, leaving him there, alone.

They crept closer to the building and hid in the shelter of trees to see four demons stood outside the entrance to the building.

“Dean,” Cas whispered, “they're not all demons. Those two, there, the woman in the grey sweatshirt and the big guy. They're not demons. They're croats.”

Dean nodded. “Most other people can't tell at a glance. They're just trying to look like they have numbers.” He and Cas already had the silencers fitted to their guns, and picked a demon each to shoot with a bullet with a devil's trap carved into it. That would give them enough time to get over there and kill the demons with the knife before they could get the bullets out and smoke out. Two of the other soldiers took aim at the croats.

In unison they all counted down from three in their heads, and fired almost in unison, hitting all four of the guards with a dull  _pewm_  of guns fitted with silencers. One of the croats needed a second bullet, but they were all pretty good marksmen and had taken the demons and croats out.

They quietly got up and rushed to the front of the building, dispatching the demons swiftly before they could raise any real alarm.

Dean took a rosary out of his pocket and handed it to a couple of the other soldiers, who nodded and made their way round to the other side of the building. Catching Meg was hard, perhaps impossible, but Dean had a plan. Dean always had a plan.

They filtered into a hallway, flanked with offices littered with yellowed paper rusted chairs. The place seemed to be abandoned, but Cas could sense that it was not. “We're surrounded by them,” Cas whispered, to which Dean simply nodded. They entered the main factory floor; a cavernous and almost empty space now, all the machinery long having been stripped out for scrap.

A movement out of the corner of Cas's eye caused him to turn sharply to the left, just in time to see the familiar sight of the demon who was once Bela Talbot emerging from behind a partition wall.

“Hello boys,” Bela smiled, lighting a match.

She dropped it, and suddenly Cas was separated from Dean, and looked around frantically as holy fire ignited around him, trapping him in a circle. Even without his power he was still an angel by nature – and he could not pass through the flames.

All he could do was watch as demons rushed them from the corners of the room, two of them taking hold of Dean and a few more taking Matt and the other soldiers in their party, then dragging them over to a pillar, sitting them down and tying them to it.

Cas tried to stay calm and tried to think – although trapped in the fire he was not disarmed – he still had a gun and a knife tucked into his jacket. Dean still had the demon-killing knife. Although they hadn't counted on the holy fire, Cas was pretty confident that they were going to make this work; all they had to do was stall for long enough...

Heels clicked across the floor as someone approached – the demon Cas recognised as Meg. She was flanked by a male demon, and Bela also went and stood next to her. Cas felt oddly disappointed that Crowley's associate had betrayed them – but he knew he should know better than to expect any honesty from a demon. He wondered whether Crowley was part of this too, and instinctively doubted it despite the evidence. Bela's expression was carefully neutral, and she watched and listened to events in silence.

“Hello, Clarence,” Meg smiled at him. “Long time no see. I suppose you're looking for the colt? You must be getting bored of that.”

Dean replied, “Actually, we're looking for you.”

“Hey, the grown-ups are talking,” Meg silenced him. “So, angel,” she took several steps closer until she stood immediately the other side of the flames. “You wanted to see me?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “We're here to find out what you've been doing. And kill you if we can.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “You never were subtle. Hmm...” Meg thought. “Well I haven't been doing much; seen a few movies, travelled to a few cities, unleashed a few deadly plagues. You know, the usual. And the party is just getting started – that's why we're here right now.”

Cas exchanged a glance with Dean, and ventured, “You're here for the army.”

Meg just laughed. “Please. You can keep your toy soldiers. We're doing things these days that you could never comprehend, angel.” She glanced at Dean and broke into a grin as she looked back at Cas. “Maybe I should keep you here. Teach you a lesson or two.”

“Try it,” Dean goaded, threatening her. “See how far you get.”

Meg laughed and looked at Dean disparagingly. “Oh, you seem upset. Is it because I stole your boyfriend?”

Dean twitched just a little, just as he always did when words like  _boyfriend_  came up. It was almost imperceptible, and though the others all glanced at him, Meg was the only one other than Cas to notice and understand. Meg went on, “Because that wasn't to hurt you. In fact, Clarence,” Meg turned to Cas, “I don't want to hurt you either – unless, of course, that's what gets you off...”

“What do you want?” Cas asked.

“Oh, the simple things,” she replied. “You know, the extinction of the human race, that sort of thing.”

“You are a human,” Cas retorted. “Or you were.”

“But I recovered,” Meg replied breezily. “And now I'm something better. Human beings are a disease. A cancer of this planet. You are a plague and we are the cure.”

Cas narrowed his eyes and met Meg's gaze. “That's a quote from The Matrix.”

Out of the corner of Cas's, eye, he caught Dean fighting back a smile as Meg laughed gleefully. “So you watched a movie, Clarence, about time.”

“I still don't know who Clarence is,” Cas admitted.

In that moment of distraction Dean broke free of the grasp of the demons holding him, and Cas watched anxiously as he managed to get a few steps away from them and took out the demon-killing knife, stabbing one in the neck and killing it before other stepped away from Meg and grabbed Dean, restraining him once again.

“Nice try,” Meg applauded, "give yourself a gold star, Dean-o."

She then told the demon who had taken the knife to get away from Dean and go over to guard Matt and Risa.

“You make one more move like that, and I'll kill you.” Meg promised Dean.

“Go ahead,” Dean goaded her, but none of the demons moved. Dean grinned. “You can't. Your orders are to take me alive; you're not allowed to kill me.”

“They may be,” Meg admitted, seemingly unruffled by Dean knowing this. “But _only_  you.” She glanced to the demons holding Matt and Risa, “Kill the man first. Slowly.”

While Meg was still looking away from him, Cas drew his gun and fired across the room, where a devil's trap bullet struck the demon holding Matt right in the centre of the chest. “Get the knife!” Cas shouted, as the demon with the bullet hole in his chest looked down at it dumbly, dropping to his knees in pain, unable to move from the spot.

Matt wrestled the demon-killing knife from him and took on the other demon, who was already attempting to kill Risa – and in the flurry of confused activity that followed Cas lost sight of them. “Get him out of here!” Meg shouted to the demons holding Dean, and approached Cas to stand on the other side of the flames.

“Dean!” Cas called after him, but he had already been dragged out of the door.

Cas frantically scanned the room for Matt, but he was gone – as was Risa. Cas's heart pounded in his chest as he panicked at this all being utterly outside his control. He fired the gun at Meg, but she managed to deflect the bullet in mid-air. “Let me go!” He shouted.

“Now now,” Meg chastised him, “Didn't anyone ever teach you to say please?”

Cas clenched his jaw and tried not to display too much of his anger, tried not to let Meg know how much she had really got to him. “Let me go, or I will kill you.”

“So you'll only kill me if I  _don't_  let you go?” Meg asked wryly, twisting his words. “I knew you had a soft spot for me, Clarence.”

They stood in silence for a moment, sizing each other up. In the background came the rattle of gunfire, and the distant roar of an engine.

An alarm interrupted them: a shrill, piercing sound. Cas looked up as the sprinklers came on, dousing the flames that surrounded him. He resumed his eye-contact with Meg, and she smirked at him.

That smirk quickly died, however, as the water in the sprinklers started to burn her – holy water.

The second that the fire died down, Cas surged forward and ran at her. She held up a hand to deflect him, and Cas felt the force in the centre of his chest but ran through it, knowing he had to capture her if he could. Meg's eyes widened in surprise just before Cas reached her, pushing her to the ground. She punched him hard in the stomach and he hit her in the face, but she still managed to temporarily overpower him. She was distracted by the pain of the holy water and weakened by it, but she still had her powers, and her superior strength. She wrestled the gun from him – the one with bullets that could trap her in place, and with one hand pinned Cas's wrists above his head and with the other she threw the gun half way across the room. Cas half wished that he had just gone ahead and shot her too while he was in the holy fire, even though he might not have had time to do that and save Matt's life.

Meg leaned down over him, studying him closely, with interest. He looked back, seeing both her true face and the one she was wearing, that she had appropriated. The holy water was clearly hurting her, and although he couldn't free himself, neither could she hold him there forever, which made the situation a stalemate. She seemed to realise this and flashed him a grin before leaping to her feet.

Cas rolled over and scrambled to his feet – and he ran for the gun that Meg had thrown across the room. He spotted another demon appear in the doorway, and felt a phantom rope around his neck, which yanked him backwards and made him fall down onto his back with a thud.

Meg appeared to stand above him, grinning. “Well this has been fun,” she laughed. “But it looks like we lost this fight. You and I better take a rain-check on this.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “On what?”

She laughed and released her hold on him, grimacing in pain as holy water continued to rain down on her. She took a few steps back and reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out a small umbrella and deploying it hurriedly, opening it above her head. “Well, that's a relief.” She sighed and nodded at Cas. “Always be prepared.”

Cas immediately got back to his feet and looked at her warily. She made no move towards him. “You're letting me go? Why?”

She nodded in the direction of the other demon at the door. “Pretty sure this chump is here to tell me that Dean got away.”

Cas looked at the other demon, who nodded.

Meg made a noise of disgust. “You and him, you come as a set. The two of you together - priceless. But just the one? Not such a big deal.”

“Why?” Cas asked, though he took a step toward the gun, wondering whether he could possibly get to it and still capture her.

Meg smiled wryly and span the handle of the umbrella in her hand. “Because if I just had you, I'd never get any peace while Dean valiantly fought to rescue his princess from the tower. Same the other way around. Having you would be fun, but not really in my best interests right now.”

Cas narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but didn't have much time to think about it.

“Oh, and by the way,” Meg grinned, “If this was your best attempt to capture me, you'll have to try harder.”

And with that – she vanished, and Cas cursed under his breath. That sort of trick was Crowley and Bela's M.O. Bela herself, in all the confusion, had also disappeared. 

Cas retrieved his gun, and the other demon glowered at him, but it ran for shelter as he passed, more concerned with itself.

Cas passed him, reached the door, and broke into a run along the corridor, back out of the main door. Dean appeared from round the side of the building with Risa, whose arm was soaked with blood from some kind of wound that she had sustained.

“Cas, where's Meg?”

“Gone.”

“Gone? How the hell?”

“No time to explain. Dean, we should go.”

Dean exhaled hard. “Shit.”

Dean quickly led Cas over to the truck, where he climbed into the driving seat, and Cas got into the back, with Risa. Laid out on the floor was Matt, surrounded by no small amount of blood, and people working to help him.

Cas went over to kneel next to him, uncertain as to whether Matt would live. One of the other soldiers was pressing a bandage down hard on his stomach to try to stem the bleeding. “Okay,” she called to Dean, and the truck began to trundle away. Matt winced at the movement, and she tried to hold him still. Ollie was sat at the back of the truck, hugging his knees. The other soldiers watched. At least they had all survived this attempt. So far.

“Can I help?” Cas asked.

“I think I've done all I can for now,” the woman said softly. “I thought I might be able to sew this up before we got going – but this...” she made eye-contact with Cas and raised her eyebrows, trying to silently convey that Matt would need surgery. It went without saying, of course, that surgery was an enormously risky undertaking these days.

“I'm not stupid, you know,” Matt mumbled. “I know I'm dying.”

“You're not dying,” she assured him. “Azaria can fix this.”

Matt disregarded the reassurance and grabbed Cas's forearm. He reached into his pocket and handed the demon-killing knife back to Cas. “Thanks,” Matt said weakly.

“You're welcome.”

“Cas,” Matt balled his fist in the front of Cas's shirt. “Listen, all the shit I ever said about you – I... I was wrong.”

Cas raised his eyebrows. “So you trust me now?”

“Don't be a dick about it, but yes.” Matt nodded.

Cas broke into a smile. “I wish I'd known sooner that all I had to do was save your life.”

Matt chuckled but winced at the pain. After that he slowly lost consciousness – and by the time they got back to camp, he had to be rushed away to the medical cabin, where Azaria would treat him. She treated him in quarantine, as they couldn't be sure what had happened to him in the confusion back at the factory, but Matt would be kept sedated so that Azaria should be safe outside long enough to confirm his status.

“It seems you were right,” Cas ventured, talking to Dean, though Dean was watching everyone else unload the trucks. “About Bela and possibly Crowley too. They are working with Meg.”

“Hmm.” It was a moment before Dean looked at Cas and replied, “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No.” Cas thought for a moment. “Although, we only saw Bela, so we don't necessarily know that Crowley is in on–”

“Stop,” Dean snapped. “Just stop. Crowley is not one of the good guys, Cas, how many times.”

“I have never claimed that he is a good guy,” Cas retorted. “Good or bad, I do believe that Crowley wants Lucifer dead. He wants it for his own selfish reasons; so that Lucifer won't wipe out the demons once he's finished with the humans. I'm sure of that.”

“Cas, listen,” Dean whispered and changed the subject entirely, with a glance behind him to where Ollie was unloading things from the truck. “I need to talk to you–”

“Hey guys,” Chuck interrupted them.

“Chuck,” Dean failed to disguise his impatience, “look, if this is about supplies, it'll have to wait–”

“Hey, no,” Chuck held up his hands. “I'm just glad you're alright. Came over to say that.”

“Okay,” Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks Chuck. I gotta talk to Cas.”

“Oh,” Chuck looked between them knowingly. “Of course, okay.”

Chuck stepped away to go. And then, just visible behind Dean, Cas noticed Ollie. Ollie drew a gun and raised it, aiming it at Dean. Time seemed to slow; too much was happening for the fraction of a second in which it was trying to occur. The kid had that look in his eyes; the murderous look that croats got;  _he has Croatoan_. Cas drew his handgun, cocked it, aimed it and fired before he even thought about it.

The bullet sailed past Dean's head and hit Ollie right between the eyes. Ollie dropped, dead before he hit the ground.

Dean span around to look, seeing that the corpse still clutched the gun in his hand. 

Around them, a few people had gasped, all had frozen in place, and now looked on in solemn silence.

Dean turned back to Cas. “You're one hell of a shot, Cas.”

Cas shrugged and slipped his gun back into its holster. “You're welcome,” he replied, glancing at the people all around. He stepped closer to Dean and kept his voice low. “You knew?”

Dean nodded and looked at Ollie where he lay on the ground. “I knew.” He sighed. “I mean, I was pretty sure. He was showing signs of Croatoan. Was gonna talk to you, thought we'd take him to quarantine...”

Cas put his hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed, leaving it there as Dean addressed the people around. “Ollie had Croatoan. We need to make a funeral pyre for him.”

He stepped away and Cas's hand fell from his shoulder as they set about gathering wood.

* * *

While gathering the wood, Dean finally got a chance to ask what had happened to Cas, how he had got past the other demons, what exactly had happened with Meg.

“She let me go,” Cas replied.

“What?” Dean dropped a stack of logs onto the pile for the funeral pyre and frowned at Cas. “Why?”

Cas explained what Meg had said about the two of them coming as as set, but this didn't seem to make any sense to Dean either.

“But if she had you,” Dean began, cutting himself off and taking hold of Cas's arm to lead him out of earshot of other people. “You're my weak spot, Cas. All the demons know that. If she had you, she could've played me like Jack Bauer.”

Cas did not know who Jack Bauer was but still understood Dean's point; Cas being held in demon captivity could have been used to force Dean to do any number of things. He shrugged. “Perhaps there's nothing they especially need you to be doing. They do already control the planet. Besides,” he went on, “she made her escape, clearly that was a contingency plan for her own personal safety. Capturing me and trying to take me with her too wasn't worth the risk to her.”

Dean nodded and thought for a moment. “How many demons were there, at the time you got out?”

“Two. Meg and another one. I didn't get the impression that he was anyone of import.”

Dean looked away and thought about this in silence for some time, and Cas wasn't sure what exactly it was that Dean was thinking about, assuming him to be trying to guess Meg's motives and work out what her strategy may be.

They later heard from the medical cabin that Matt was okay, and everyone else was cleared of having Croatoan. None of them knew what could have happened to Ollie, other than theorising that there must have been a rogue croat, or one patrolling the perimeter. There was something deeply unsettling about knowing that they would probably never get the full story of how and why Ollie had died. He just  _had_ , and that was that.

They held a kind of funeral for him, and burned the body as the sun dipped toward the horizon. The scene was reminiscent of Bobby's death, and the deaths of many others.

Some people said prayers, but Cas stubbornly did not. Dean was stoic about Ollie's death, but Cas knew that privately Dean had held a certain brotherly and paternal affection for Ollie, and was sad to have lost him. On top of that, of course, he blamed himself.

“He was too young to have been there,” Dean stated, when they were back in their cabin.

“He went without our knowledge and stayed because we had no other choice,” Cas replied. “It's not your responsibility to save everyone, Dean, though you try.”

Dean said nothing in response to this, though he picked up an unlabelled bottle of yellowish liquid that was theoretically rum, and drank directly out of it.

“Well, Ollie's soul will have ascended to Heaven,” Cas offered. “He will rest for eternity.”

Dean looked at him in disbelief. “So you're saying it's no big deal?”

“No, Dean...”

“You are.” Dean shook his head in disbelief. “ _Down here_  is what matters. Isn't that how I got through to you in the first place?” Dean took an accusatory tone, and went on, “Is knowing that supposed to make it easier when it comes to Sam? Is that what you're getting at?”

_Kill me. It doesn't matter_. Sam's words haunted Cas.

_It does matter_.

“For Sam...” Cas sighed. “There is no other way.”

“You think  _killing_  Sam is the best thing I can do for him?”

_Yes_. “Dean, I...”

“Fuck you.” Dean hit him on the shoulder and turned away.

“Dean, you know this,” Cas explained. “Lucifer won't leave Sam.”

“Then we kill Lucifer.”

“Killing Lucifer necessitates killing Sam,” Cas pressed him. “You  _know_  that.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean snapped, running a hand over his jaw. “The truth is...” Dean sighed. “You'll think it's dumb.”

“Tell me, and I'll tell you whether I think it's dumb.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I always kind of thought...” he hesitated. “So I thought, best case... We kill Lucifer. Heaven comes back online. You get your power back. You heal Sam.” He rolled his eyes, seemingly at himself. “Everybody wins. We beat the game.”

Cas was silent for a moment while he thought about this. “That is a possibility.”

Dean laughed, a short, sharp bitter laugh. “No, it's not. I know it's not, you know it's not. I'm just used to getting everything my own way, thinking I can cheat all the rules. But I can't, can I?”

“Dean... I don't know. Maybe.”

Dean huffed. “Stop it with your bullshit. I just... for the longest time, I couldn't take the truth. I couldn't think about it. But now I get it – believe me, I  _get it_. I was wrong about getting out of saying 'yes' to Michael, and I know I'm wrong about thinking Sam can be saved too.”

“Sam  _can_  be saved–”

“Not in the way that matters!” Dean shouted. “I can't have my brother back – alive.”

Cas sighed and looked away, not wanting to admit that Dean was unfortunately correct in that assessment.

“And you don't even think we can do  _that_ ,” Dean went on.

Cas narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You don't think the colt is gonna work–”

“You keep saying that,” Cas protested. “You keep telling me what I think. I  _do_  think the colt will work.”

“No you don't,” Dean stated, simply. “I know you don't. You wanna know how I know?”

“Enlighten me,” Cas goaded, irritated with Dean's claims to know what he was thinking.

“When I told you to stay in the camp, after Bobby died – you did. You actually stayed here.”

Cas didn't see Dean's point. “So?”

“So – why would you do that? That's your whole thing; you go off on your own, you do what you think is right for the greater good even when it pisses me off, even if you... if you have to leave me to do it. You've always done that. And now you don't anymore. You stayed here.”

Silence fell between them and Cas looked down at the floor with a frown. “But after we had our argument, I did just that. Went off on my own. For the colt.”

“No,” Dean shook his head. “Not for the colt. For me. You said so in one of those notes you left me. You were doing it to redeem yourself  _to me_.”

“I... no.” Cas shook his head. “I was looking for the colt, Dean.”

“No. You just did what you're used to doing, I guess. But you've got no belief that we can do this. You've given up. You have no... no  _drive_ , no hope. And that's how I know that you don't think the colt is gonna work.”

Cas cast his eyes to the floor and they stood in poignant silence.

“See,” Dean went on, with a hint of wry, knowing smile. “In all the years I've known you – don't you think I've got to know you?”

Cas took a deep breath and met Dean's eyes.

“You're wrong,” Cas insisted, not sure who he was trying hardest to convince. “I really do think the colt will work. That gun can kill anything. And we know that angels can die.” 


	17. Chapter 17

“ _In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God … There came a man who was sent from God … He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all men might believe. He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light ... He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognise him … The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.”_

– John, chapter 1, verses 1 – 14 (abridged)

* * *

 Cas had a few more dreams about Sam. He ran from Sam in most of them – generally because it was not Sam at all but Lucifer in the guise of Sam trying to torment him, which made it all the worse.

He talked to Pamela about it, and they concluded that he had taken something back when he had contacted Lucifer, some small echo of all that Lucifer was had stayed with him, and then it haunted him in his dreams. Increasingly, Cas was drinking as much as Dean, or taking the same downers and tranquillisers as Dean to get to sleep without dreaming at all, if possible.

Dean, meanwhile, was beating himself up about Ollie. He spoke endlessly about how he should have protected Ollie, should have left someone with him, or got him back to camp, or not encouraged him to fight at all. There was nothing that could be said; Dean was determined to blame himself, but Cas listened. As much as Dean spoke of  _Ollie_ , Cas rather thought that Dean was actually talking about  _Sam_ , even if he himself perhaps didn't realise this.

Sam was at the forefront of their minds again, not that he had ever been forgotten, but Cas's dreams had forced them both to consciously think about him, to talk about him. Pamela agreed not to mention to anyone that Sam was playing host to Lucifer, and she never suggested making another attempt at the connection. They speculated and assured each other that it would probably be more dangerous the second time around, that now Lucifer knew to expect Castiel he would have some more elaborate defence prepared, and Cas could be left experiencing hallucinations or something much worse. And as Cas didn't have access to his angelic power, there would be nothing more he could do to defend himself than there had been last time.

Dean outwardly accepted all of this, but Cas knew that Dean had some disappointment that they couldn't try it again, that he couldn't talk to Sam. “If I could just  _ask_  him...” Dean would begin, every once in a while, but he never finished the sentence. Dean wanted to know why Sam said 'yes' to Lucifer. Cas wanted to know that too, and thought that the fragment of Sam that he saw in his dreams, residing in his subconscious, might even have enough of Sam's memories to know the answer – and yet, he still did not ask. Somehow Cas couldn't bring himself to confront the issue and decided that it made no difference, anyway. It was all the past now, and could not be changed.

For a couple of weeks, there was nothing more they could do on trying to catch demons or to find the colt. They needed to improve the supply situation for the camp, and work with the national guard. The former was mostly Cas's responsibility, and the latter Dean's. Cas rather got the impression that Dean didn't want the macho soldier types to see him and Cas together, as if by simply being in each other's presence the nature of their relationship would somehow be obvious to everyone. Cas privately thought this was absurd, seeing as everyone already knew about it, but didn't argue about it. It wasn't worth arguing about.

Dean was gone for the day, and Cas headed over to Chuck's cabin to talk to him about water, sewage, arguments about rations, and other such demotic concerns.

When Cas got over there, he found the door open, and Chuck sat at a table, writing.

“Hey Cas,” Chuck glanced up. “I just want to finish this chapter.”

Cas nodded and took a step closer, until he could see Chuck's papers. He caught sight of his own name, and Dean's. “You're still writing the, uh, Winchester Gospels?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Chuck shrugged. “Oh, don't worry. I, uh, keep it PG-13...”

There was an awkward moment between them as Cas stared at Chuck and Chuck didn't know where to look. Cas wondered in what kind of detail and how often Chuck saw him and Dean having sex, and resolved never ever to talk about that with Dean.  _Ever_.

“So...” Cas hesitated, “you don't write about...?”

“No,” Chuck replied quickly. “Not really. I mean, uh, in passing. No details. If it's relevant to the plot.”

Cas raised his eyebrows and Chuck cleared his throat. Cas broke into a grin at the absurdity of the whole thing and chuckled. “If Dean finds out that you write about it at all, he  _will_  kill you.”

“Message received, loud and clear,” Chuck nodded.

Cas nodded. “Have you, uh, written about Sam?”

“Yeah,” Chuck replied. “It was really confusing at first; seeing you with Sam and all the weird stuff that was going on. Then I realised you were dreaming.”

Cas nodded. “You still don't really see much of Lucifer?”

Chuck shook his head. “I see Lucifer after he's done what he's doing. Sometimes months after. I figure I see everything I see for a reason, so I write it down, but...” Chuck paused, and then added, “I saw Meg. I saw what she was doing before you guys showed up. The reason she was so nearby was that they were gonna lay a trap for you, but you got the jump on them. They wanted both you and Dean”

Cas nodded. “I see. Why there?”

“It's somewhere to hide, and talk, and plan, I guess." Chuck shrugged. "I'm a writer, not a strategist.”

Cas pulled up another chair and sat down, changing the subject after that and going over the inventory with Chuck and Allison, all of which took most of the rest of the day.

* * *

Dean stayed out until they lost the light, and by the time he returned Cas was back at the cabin and had cooked something. The impulse to cook would come over Cas every once in a while, and Cas supposed it was some human instinct, some urge to connect himself viscerally with the the stuff of life.

Dean returned just as Cas had finished unloading what he had cooked from the oven tray to the cooling rack, and the smell probably got Dean's attention.

“What is this?” Dean asked, with a grin.

“Brownies,” Cas replied. “I made them. Would you like one?”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Are these  _special_  brownies?”

“Of course,” Cas replied. “Why would I go to all the trouble of making brownies otherwise?”

“You're...” Dean shook his head. “You're insane. I go out for a few hours, I come back and find that you've made hash brownies.”

“Do you want one or not?”

“Of course I want one,” Dean laughed reaching out and picking one up, though it was still hot to the touch. As he turned away he smacked Cas affectionately on the ass and walked off into the other room.

Cas picked one up too and followed, sitting next to Dean on the couch.

“So,” Dean spoke, between mouthfuls of food. “Tomorrow, we're gonna need you to be out with the army. They're going somewhere on the other side of the lake where I know there used to be a vampire nest. No idea whether there's one there now, but I want someone there who knows how to handle a vamp if one shows up. That okay?”

“Sure,” Cas agreed.

“And it'll go faster if you're there, too.”

Cas nodded. “How much longer are we going to be doing this?”

“Not long,” Dean assured him. “They want the area under the control of regional command by August first. That's, what, a couple days?”

“Day after tomorrow,” Cas confirmed.

“We're nearly done, anyway. Tomorrow's probably gonna be the last day.” Dean put his arm around Cas's shoulders. “You talk to Chuck?”

Cas then recounted how he had spent his day, all of the things that he had worked out with Chuck, and how they meant to improve the waste disposal situation for the camp.

Dean took all this in, even though he didn't find it very interesting. He maintained his interest by pulling Cas onto his lap, both his hands straying under Cas's shirt.

“Dean...” Cas attempted to scold him. “We should go and get dinner first. Before they close the cabin.”

“Hmm...” Dean kissed the side of his neck.

“I'm hungry,” Cas insisted.

“Yeah,” Dean admitted, “me too.” He licked his lips and looked up at Cas. “What do you wanna do after dinner? We could listen to some Fleetwood Mac. Or Dark Side of the Moon and synch it up with The Wizard of Oz.”

Cas frowned. “Why would we do that?”

Dean chuckled and buried his face in Cas's neck. “You've still got a lot to learn.”

* * *

The next morning, they walked together out to join the national guard. Cas was fully prepared for himself and Dean to go their separate ways with no more than a simple goodbye from Dean, but he actually got a firm pat on the shoulder and gruff “Look after yourself,” which made him smile. Dean then went over to join the sergeant and some others, and Cas walked a little way along the road to the other truck, that he was going to be taking. As he got closer, the sound of two voices reached him, from the men sitting in the truck.

“They're a couple of fags, you know.”

“What?”

Cas rolled his eyes and listened as they went on:

“Castiel and the leader guy, Dean. Totally gay for each other.”

There was a long lapse of silence before the second man scoffed, “No way, man.”

“Yeah, definitely,” the first man insisted. “Everyone knows it.”

“You're shitting me.”

“It's true,” the first man insisted. “They have the same last name – Winchester – and they're sure as hell not related. They're so gay, they're pretending to be  _married_.”

Cas was not particularly looking forward to working with these people. “Hello,” he called out, mainly to cut off their conversation.

The driver looked down from the truck somewhat wide-eyed and embarrassed – and when he introduced himself as Tom, Cas recognised from his voice that he was the second man, the one unconvinced about Cas's relationship with Dean. The other man was Johnny, whom Cas remembered meeting once before and who had asked Cas's name. He looked at Cas now with a bizarre combination of wariness and mirth, his smile like that of a shark.

Cas climbed into the back of the truck, and they set off on their drive, in silence at first. But Johnny could not restrain himself. “Okay,” he said to Cas with faux respect. “Don't punch me if this ain't true, it's just what I heard, but you and Dean, are you...” he trailed off suggestively.

Cas pretended not to understand. “You will have to finish your question.”

Johnny huffed and turned it into a laugh. “You two a  _couple?_ ” The emphasis on 'couple' was derisive, mocking of the very idea.

Cas smirked. “A couple of what?”

Johnny was silent for a moment before laughing, turning round in his seat and looking at Cas. “You're fucking with me, aren't you?”

Cas stared back at him, his face carefully neutral. Johnny went on, “You know what I'm saying. You and him, you're together, like married people. You  _sleep_  together.”

“Yes,” Cas answered, simply. He could lie, but seeing as everyone already seemed to have heard, he saw little point.

“See,” Johnny said, laughing, to Tom, though Tom ignored him, and spoke to Cas instead. “Sorry about him, Castiel, he has the maturity of a middle-schooler.”

“Hey,” Johnny laughed, punching his friend in the arm. Cas said nothing.

Johnny promptly turned round in his seat again. “Which one of you's the man then?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “That question is idiotic.”

“Why?”

“Because we're  _both_  men.” That shut him up for a moment.

Cas added, “I suggest you look at the road on your side.”

“Yeah,” Tom supported him.

Johnny sighed and capitulated. He went on to make a few more ill-advised jokes and asked a few more inappropriate questions, but without Cas rising to the bait, he eventually became bored by the topic.

Their day's work passed mostly without incident. They set up their cameras as soon as they got back to camp, Dean finalised their arrangements with the army and checked that their satellite connection would work. From then on, except in the event of unforeseen circumstances, they would have electricity 24/7, would be supplied with more gasoline, and if they needed water, the army would bring it. Other things were more difficult to acquire, but Dean and Cas were assured that the national guard  _had their backs_  and would do what they could. And they needed all the allies they could get.

Cas got up earlier than Dean the next morning, and felt strangely hungry. In the other room, the kitchen, he found a box of cereal and poured some into a bowl, eating it without milk, with his hands. As he did, he sat and read for about half an hour before he heard Dean get up. The first thing Dean did was to open the front door, as the temperatures soared into the high thirties every day, and they tried to get as much air into the cabin as possible.

A moment later and Dean appeared in the doorway of the kitchen yawning and rubbing his eyes. He was wearing nothing but a pair of light grey boxer-briefs which hugged his body in a most flattering fashion.

“Did you sleep?” Dean asked.

“Oh, yes,” Cas met Dean's eyes to reassure him that he hadn't been sitting there all night. “I just got up early.”

“Hmm.” Dean plodded past behind him and went to the bathroom.

When he re-emerged he stood behind Cas and put his hands on Cas's shoulders, squeezing them and looking down at Cas's book. “What are you reading?”

“The Castle, by Kafka,” Cas leaned back and let his head rest against Dean's stomach.

Dean made a small hum of interest as he massaged Cas's shoulders. “What's it about?”

“Bureaucracy,” Cas closed his eyes. “A man's life is ruled by The Castle, a power that he can never see for himself. He petitions officials for help, they claim to help him but do nothing or are encumbered by their own rules. The wheels of power do not turn for lowly individuals.” Cas sighed heavily. “I guess you could say I can relate.”

Dean was quiet for a long time, his hands resting on Cas's shoulders. “So... that's what 'Kafkaesque' means, right?” he asked finally.

“Yeah.”

“I thought it was something like that,” Dean went on, running his fingers through Cas's hair. Cas smiled and leaned back further, and when Dean chuckled in response, Cas could feel the vibrations of his body, and it made him smile wider. Because they were together. Because they were alive.

Dean's right hand held the side of Cas's neck, his fingertips straying lower, under Cas's shirt. Cas covered Dean's hand with his own and then reached up, trailing them over the inside of Dean's wrist, sweeping up and down the inside of his forearm. Dean's skin felt warm from the bed, and his hand was warm under Cas's shirt as he reached lower, spreading his fingers over Cas's chest. Cas took a deep, contented breath and rested his head against Dean's arm, reaching up to his shoulder, and then around to cup the back of Dean's neck where he continued to stand behind Cas.

A knock at the door interrupted them, and the rattle of beads in the open doorway of the other room.

“Hello?” It was Chuck's voice.

Dean and Cas sighed in unison, Dean standing up straight and reluctantly pulling his hands away.

Cas went into the other room first, seeing as he was the one with clothes on.

Chuck looked ashen-faced. “You need to come and hear the news we're getting on the satellite,” he stated hollowly, utterly without preamble or introduction.

Dean pulled on some clothes and a moment later they were at the tiny shack close to the satellite where they received their information.

The news the day before had been that America's eastern seaboard was being hit by a terrible thunderstorm, and this morning, it became clear that enormous hailstones had rained down, the size of basketballs, smashing their way through buildings, and this had gone on all night. This was no regular storm – to Castiel this sounded like a biblical plague, like the work of the Staff of Moses.

“We're, uh, we're protected against this stuff, right?” Chuck asked nervously. “That spell you did with all those weird ingredients you had to... you had to get from Bobby's house.”

Cas nodded. “Yes. We will be safe.”

Chuck looked relieved, but Dean spoke with sarcasm, “Oh, well, as long as  _we'll_  be safe, it's no big deal.”

Cas narrowed his eyes at Dean. “I am not saying it's no big deal. Do you think that I don't care?”

Dean sighed. “I... no. You care. I get it. You're a real Michael Landon.” He didn't look at Cas when he said it, and his tone was sardonic. When he cast his gaze back to Cas, he shot him a demanding look, “You said Lucifer wasn't going to use Heaven's weapons in America.”

“I was wrong.”

“Obviously!”

“And things have changed,” Cas pointed out, keeping as calm as he could. “He's tried to capture you, and he failed–”

“So now he's just gonna change his whole plan and kill me?”

“Uh...” Suddenly, Cas had kind of an epiphany. He grabbed Dean's arm and went on, quickly, “When I contacted Lucifer, I took back an impression of Sam. Lucifer must have taken back something of me. He  _knows._  He knows we're safe here.”

“Then we leave,” Dean said hurriedly. “We leave and make a big noise somewhere else so he knows he might kill me by mistake–”

“Dean,” Cas shook his head. “You would only get yourself killed. Lucifer is making a point.”

“How do you know?”

Cas let his hand fall away and replied quietly, “I just know.”

“I should have said 'yes' to Michael,” Dean said suddenly, with a shake of his head.

“Dean,” Cas snapped, initially at a loss for what more to say. “Don't say that to me.”

“You mean you don't wanna hear the truth?”

Cas remained silent, utterly refusing to engage with this conversation.

“I was wrong, Cas. I didn't say 'yes'. And these are the consequences. Do you get it? I should get the hell out of here and face him like a man.”

“Dean, listen to me!” Cas insisted. “Lucifer is doing this because  _this_  – you being angry and making rash decisions – this is exactly what he wants. He's trying to draw you out.”

“Let him!”

“He's trying to draw us out before we're ready!” Cas grabbed Dean by the shoulders and stared into Dean's eyes. “We need to get the colt first. You  _know_  that.”

Dean resentfully pulled away and turned around. He went to go, but Cas could tell that he had realised that Cas was right and was not going to do anything rash. Cas knew this by something in Dean's body language, something in how he held himself, how he moved.

There had been a time when Cas had possessed essentially perfect understanding of every corporeal object in the universe. That was gone now, but what he did have, at least, was an almost perfect understanding of Dean. Almost perfect because Dean's soul and Dean's mind were things that Cas could not see, almost perfect because Dean changed over time which made him harder to understand, and almost perfect because that's just plain how it is with humanity. No one human can never perfectly understand another, and at first Cas had hated that uncertainty, all those gaps in his knowledge which he could never stitch back together. But now, he thought, perhaps the gaps were the whole point. To try their best to understand, to fall short, and to love each other anyway.

Cas was still in the company of Chuck, who was standing awkwardly off to one side. “So,” Chuck tried to make conversation, “you really think Lucifer is doing this to try to draw you guys out?”

“That's part of it, I would imagine,” Cas replied. “Mostly this is Lucifer having a tantrum.”

“Isn't this whole  _thing_  about Lucifer having a tantrum?” Chuck retorted, and Cas gave a conciliatory nod.

Chuck then turned to go, pausing to ask, “Is Dean gonna be okay?”

Cas nodded, and Chuck left, walking back across the camp to his own cabin.

Making his way back their cabin, Cas mentally prepared himself to argue with Dean further about Lucifer, but he suspected that Dean had already actually seen and accepted his point.

He parted the the beads and went inside to find Dean sat on their couch, drinking whiskey. It was early, even for him. Dean didn't say anything so Cas didn't say anything either, and Cas poured himself a drink. He went to refill Dean's glass and Dean held it steady for him.

“I would've gone, you know,” Dean murmured. “Shoot first ask questions later.”

Cas put his hand on Dean's shoulder. “This will pass. We will be okay, Dean.”

“I know. You're missing the point,” Dean sighed. “I mean, after everything that's happened, I don't feel like I can trust myself anymore. There's this darkness in me, Cas, that I can't control.”

“Dean...” Cas squeezed his shoulder. “I think you probably need that darkness, for what you have to do, to kill Lucifer. I do see the pressure you're under.”

A few years ago, Dean would have scoffed and dismissed any such claim by Cas. Now, he sombrely accepted it. He looked up and met Cas's eyes. He hesitated, and then, almost too quietly for Cas to hear, admitted, “I couldn't do this without you.”

“I know.” Cas replied. “I couldn't do this without you either.”

* * *

For a few days they were trapped in the camp as the plagues swept past them, and there was nothing they could do.

Chuck was plagued by visions of what was happening. At first he kept them abreast of the news, but by the time a week had passed he had retreated to his room in his cabin and refused to come out. Castiel recognised this as being standard procedure for prophets of old, but most other people in the camp were rather worried about it. Dean would frequently check in with him, try to make jokes to cheer him up, but all that Chuck's mind was consumed with were what he saw of the catastrophes outside. There were rivers of blood, enormous swarms of locusts, one of which they saw and  _heard_  pass them by, and vast forest fires sparked by drought, followed up by a thunderstorm containing a barrage of enormous and devastating hailstones.

Dean had wanted to go to the farm a couple of miles away and rescue the family who lived there, who sometimes sold Camp Chitaqua food. He had called them, but they had refused to come, and stated quite plainly that they would only leave their farm if taken by force. It was an extended family of a dozen people, and Dean was deeply frustrated but nevertheless forced to accept that he couldn't take the risk of going to get them; there may not be enough time, as they had no idea how fast Lucifer was planning to move.

Only an hour later, the sky above them darkened. It was eerie, like inhabiting some kind of a bubble. Even though the sky directly above flashed and growled with the storm, nothing but the lightest drizzle fell on the camp. The devastation of the storm would surround them, while they would be safe. Cas had always assumed that he would be relieved if this happened, but he actually experienced something that humans identified as  _survivor's guilt_.

Cas's relationship with Azaria, the nurse, hadn't been the same since the débâcle with her and the other guys leaving him behind. He still considered them friends, though they hadn't actually talked to each other in quite a long time.

The camp wasn't that big, and eventually she caught up with him and said that she had to talk to him.

Cas stared at her to show that he was listening, though he remained expressionless.

“It's about Chuck,” she began. “I've just been to see him. He's...” She bit her lip. “How much do you know?”

“He's a prophet of the lord.”

“No, I mean...” she fiddled nervously with her hair before pushing it behind her ear. “Do you not recognise him?”

“What?” Cas frowned at her and she broke away, rolling her eyes.

“He is of God.”

“Yes,” Cas said slowly. “He's a prophet.”

“No–” Azaria took a deep breath. “He's more than that.”

“How do you know?”

Azaria raised her eyebrows. “I'm surprised you never worked it out – but  _bigger fish to fry_ , I guess.” Cas still had no idea what she was talking about, so she told him, “I'm an angel, Castiel.”

“What?” Cas's first instinct was to panic, in case she attacked him, but she didn't.

“Not like you. I was one of the lower orders, the cherubim. We served on Earth as guardian angels. Some of us stayed.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Cas replied, dumbstruck.

Azaria drew her lower lip into her mouth. “I didn't see what good it would do you to know. Without the link to Heaven, I have no power. I'm less of an angel than you. More vulnerable than you.”

“Why... what are you doing here?”

“I came here to watch over you,” she replied, which made Cas's chest tighten with guilt. He didn't deserve to have anyone watch over him.

“Wait,” Cas realised something. “You left me out at that town by myself.”

“Only because you wanted to stay.”

“But–”

“I'm here to guard  _humanity_ , Cas. Not just you. It seemed to me that all those people needed my protection more than you did. That is my instinct.”

“Right,” Cas nodded. Several things clicked into place in his mind; Azaria's profession of caring for others was of course a natural choice, and the way she had talked about her family fitted in with the events of the angels leaving. He managed to wonder whether or not she had a soul as well, but that was really a matter for another time. 

“It wasn't easy, leaving you," she explained. "I would have stayed with you if I hadn't thought you could look after yourself.” She smiled. “Now what about Chuck?”

Cas nodded. “Chuck. Yes. What do you know about him?”

“I don't know anything much,” she replied. “He's either an excellent liar, or he doesn't know what he is. Have you ever tried to ask him about his life before about 2005? I mean – who were his parents, where did he grow up, where did he go to school...?”

“I have no idea. He's never talked about it.”

“No,” Azaria confirmed. “Because he never had a life before that, really. He has a few scant memories that he'll bring out, but it's the same ones every time – first girlfriend, this one asshole boss he had, that sort of thing. You ask him anything else, and he just looks sort of confused about it. I don't know that it's a good idea to ask. His life is some kind of delusion and I don't know how resilient to scrutiny it is.”

Cas nodded. “That's... that's entirely possible. Chuck doesn't remember who he is. What he is. The angel Zachariah did something like that to Dean and his brother once.”

Azaria frowned at him. “Really?”

“Yes. Zachariah was trying to make a point about hunting and destiny.”

“No – I mean, I didn't know Dean had a brother.”

Cas was silent for a long moment. Sam, who was so central to Dean's life even now, was never spoken of. Speaking of him led to further questions as to what happened to him – and Dean didn't want to have to speak about that at all, even in lies. “He died,” Cas lied for him. “Dean doesn't like to talk about it.”

“Oh.”

“They were very close,” Cas added, as if  _very close_  even began to describe Sam and Dean.

“I'm sorry,” Azaria sympathised.

Cas let a moment of silence pass. “So what do we do about Chuck? Nothing?”

She shrugged. “I don't see what else we can do. Chuck's role in all this remains mysterious.”

"Don't you think he can help us?"

She shook her head. "I've prayed. Do you still pray?" 

Cas let his gaze fall to the floor. "No." 

"God... god is a writer. An observer. He will not intercede unless there is no other choice." 

"And how do you know that?" Cas demanded. 

"I don't  _know_  it," she replied. "But I have faith."

"I need to tell Dean this," Cas said quickly, not wishing to talk about _faith_. Azaria bid him goodbye and Cas walked back across the camp, thinking about Chuck, and God, and the angels, trying to let all this news sink in in such a short space of time. 

Cas climbed the steps of the cabin and called Dean's name. Dean pushed aside the beads and let Cas in. "I need to talk to you about Chuck," Cas said hurriedly. 

“What about him?” Dean asked.

Cas took a deep breath and carefully began to explain what Azaria had told him, which of course involved also telling Dean that she was an angel, which Dean was reluctant to believe at first.

“Friggin' angels...” Dean murmured. “She doesn't seem much like an angel.”

Cas raised his eyebrows. “Do I?”

Dean seemed to get Cas's point. “So what does this mean?” Dean asked. “Can Chuck, or God, or whatever, save us? Help us?”

“I don't think so,” Cas admitted. “God adopted a policy, for whatever reason, of non-interference. And I don't think Chuck even knows.”

Dean tsked. “What would happen if we told him? Would he go all spider-girl and suddenly realise he has super powers he can barely control?”

Cas smiled. “Dean, I don't know. There's really nothing to indicate he has any of God's power at this time. Just fractions of his knowledge of Universe, and the future.”

“So you're not gonna ask him?”

Cas shrugged. “I see two possibilities. One, Chuck is God, or of God, but he does not know it. In which case it would be pointless to ask him and would only upset the possibly fragile balance of his mind. Alternatively, he is God, and he knows it, but he will pretend to not know it, he will lie to me. I'm in no mood for being lied to.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, treading carefully. “So, you still think God is real–”

“Of course God is  _real_ ,” Cas snapped. “That has never been in question.”

Dean raised his eyebrows as if to dispute that, but thought better of it. “So you think God is real and just an ass.”

Cas shifted and threw his head back, deliberately hitting it against the wall. “It's not my place to say that.”

“You've said it before.”

“Yeah.” Cas admitted, and suddenly the sensation of scopaesthesia came over him, as if God was watching him, listening to him, and judging him for the most heinous sin that an angel could commit: lacking faith. It instinctively made him want to stand up straight, to get back in line like a soldier, to play along. That had all been so much easier than this freedom business.

“Screw God,” Dean said with defiance. “You gotta stop thinking about what your deadbeat dad might think of you, believe me. Because he ain't around.”

Cas scowled. “It's alright for you. You never  _had_  faith.”

“It is not alright for me...” Dean trailed off when he saw how dejected Cas was. “Cas...” he took a step closer and pulled Cas into his arms. That only brought Cas's emotions closer to the surface, emotions he was never supposed to have.

“Faith was all I was ever supposed to have,” Cas said softly, pressing his face to Dean's shoulder. “Faith was everything.”

Dean rubbed Cas's back. “I'm sorry.”

“Do you mean to apologise or that you feel for me?” Cas asked, pulling back.

Dean shrugged and averted his eyes. “Both, I guess.”

“Don't apologise,” Cas implored. “Don't ever apologise.” Dean still didn't look at him so Cas cupped the side of Dean's face and turned it to face him. “None of what happened to me is your fault. It was Heaven's fault, and God's fault. Never yours.” Dean nodded but Cas knew that he didn't believe it.

“Nothing can replace faith, can it?” Dean asked.

“No,” Cas confirmed. “It's a void inside me that nothing could ever fill.”

Dean sighed quietly. “I know the feeling. Not because I lost faith, but...” Dean didn't need to say why he felt that way; Cas knew. It was going to Hell, it was the apocalypse, it was losing Sam.

Cas understood, and was the only person who would ever truly understand. And likewise, Dean was the only one who would ever understand Cas. By this point, although Cas was accustomed to his pervasive feeling of helplessness and uselessness, it did not get any easier to take. For there was nothing they could do against Lucifer and the plagues he was bringing. All they could do where they were was wait for it to be over.

* * *

When the storms all seemed to have finally passed, the first thing Dean elected to do was to travel about a mile down the road to the farm from which they bought some of their food. Dean expected everyone there to have been killed, as did Cas. They went together, and they were both mentally prepared to face the task of burning the bodies; these people were friends of theirs, after all, and they both felt as if they owed them that.

When they arrived at the farm, however, everything was always just as it had been. There were three people sitting on the front porch, and all of the surrounding fields and livestock looked, at a glance, to be perfectly fine.

The matriarch of the family, Liz, came out of the house to meet them, and all Dean said to induce conversation was, “What the hell?”

At first, Liz posited that they had simply been lucky, but Cas was certain that this was impossible. “Why has nothing bad  _ever_  happened to your farm?” Cas demanded.

After a few minutes of half-baked excuses, Liz was finally forced to admit, “I made a deal.”

Cas immediately looked at Dean, who shook his head in disbelief. “That was a dumbass move.”

“Hey,” Liz protested. “I get ten years with my family. We've got a life here. That's a hell of a lot more than most people on this planet have got left.”

Dean laughed. “You moron.”

“Dean–”

“Enjoy Hell,” Dean derided. With that he turned away, taking a few steps back towards the car.

“Liz,” Cas asked carefully, “the demon you made this deal with... can you describe him?”

“Sure,” Liz shrugged. “English, average height, wore a black suit all the time.”

Cas looked over his shoulder to see that Dean had stopped where he was. Cas turned to Liz. “Summon him. I want to speak to him.”

“What?” Liz frowned. “I don't want him back here–”

“The camp is too heavily warded against demons for us to talk to him there,” Cas explained. “We'll do it here.”

“Cas!” Dean called from behind him, walking back to him. “What are you doing?”

“We should speak to Crowley.”

“You're not makin' that fuckin' deal!” Dean shouted suddenly, strictly, with a look in his eyes like he forcibly might drag Cas away.

Cas stared back at him coolly. “Is that right?”

“Just tell me what you're planning to do.” Cas shifted impatiently so Dean added, “Whatever it is it can wait five fucking minutes while you explain.”

Reluctantly, Cas did explain his plan, and even more reluctantly, Dean agreed to go along with it.

They went into the house, where they easily set up an alter and summoned Crowley, who immediately appeared.

“Oh. Hello boys.”

Cas nodded to him. “Crowley.”

“You've got some explaining to do,” Dean growled, taking a step towards him and flexing his hand as if to reach for the demon-killing knife in his pocket.

“Ah, yes,” Crowley admitted quite cordially. “I gather you saw Bela. Unavoidable, I'm afraid. Hang on,” he walked over to the alter, and Dean demanded to know what he was doing. Crowley didn't answer, but he dropped something onto the fire, and murmured something.

“Hello boys,” said Bela, from immediately behind him.

“That's my line,” Crowley retorted, and the demons exchanged a smile.

“So,” Crowley said with pleasure. “Here we all are. Team Free Will.”

Dean growled, “We are  _not_  a team.”

“Suit yourself,” Crowley shrugged. “Bela's my woman on the inside of Camp Lucifer. She's the one giving me my information.”

Dean frowned. “So you're saying she's a spy?”

“That's exactly what he's saying,” Bela confirmed. “I know someone who knows the colt's location. Duane. I can get him for you – for a price.”

For a few minutes, Dean fiercely insisted that no souls were being handed over in any deals, to which Crowley and Bela replied that they were  _demons_  and wasn't going to do anything for anyone as a  _favour_.

Cas listened and watched as Crowley spoke and argued with Dean. Cas was able to see Crowley's true dejection and desperation, and his quietly held unhappiness that he tried so hard to gloss over with wisecracks and defiance. Cas had seen that particular brand of misery before. In Dean. He knew it when he saw it.

“I've been thinking,” Cas interjected, speaking to Crowley and Bela, and everyone looked at him. “You want this apocalypse to end as badly as we do. There's as much in it for you as there is for us. I don't need to give you my soul;  _we're_  the ones who'll be doing  _you_  a favour.”

“No,” Bela insisted. “You might be the grunts who pull the trigger, but we're the ones cutting you in on  _our_  deal. You only need to do one little thing for us.”

“One little thing like killing the devil?” Dean replied.

“Precisely.”

Crowley raised his hands. “Alright, alright, you're twisting my arm. No souls.” Bela opened her mouth to protest, but Crowley went on, “I need to survive this thing. That's why I need you two monkeys to do the dirty work. If you even get close to Lucifer, you're probably going to be killed, you know that, right?”

Cas and Dean made only the slightest of glances at each other, but said nothing.

“Okay,” Crowley said steadily. “As long as you get the job done, you can keep your damn souls. Enemy of my enemy, and all that. But you will be working for me, that clear?”

Dean shook his head, but Crowley insisted, “Hey, we're fighting  _Lucifer_ ; for once the people with English accents are actually the good guys here.”

Dean entirely lost his patience. “Listen, you undead snake-oil salesman–”

“Mind your tongue!” Crowley roared. “You're speaking to the future King of Hell.” Dean and Cas both scoffed, so Crowley insisted, “Hey, I have friends in low places.”

“Really?” Dean derided. “'Cause I only see Bela.”

“Well, they're all dead now – or at least that what they want people to think. It's called an apocalypse; that implies that lot of people die, doesn't it?” Crowley explained, “Lucifer killed many of them. And he'll kill all us demons yet unless we stop him. I'm playing the long game, and I'm playing to win. So I've got a simple question for you: are you in or are you out?”

_Yes_  was halfway out of Cas's mouth before he looked over at Dean. Cas hesitated for a moment, and then gestured for Dean to come with him to confer in the next room.

“Neither of us is handing over our souls,” Cas assured Dean.

He expected Dean to argue, but he simply nodded. “Yeah. Working with Crowley is about the last thing I want, but the way I see it, if getting hold of the colt goes sideways, they'll be the ones who get burned, not us.”

“What about... after Lucifer? If Crowley is King of Hell?”

Dean laughed and shook his head. “One thing at a time, man. We'll handle Crowley if we have to. Lucifer's demons will probably handle him first, as revenge for Crowley helping to take Lucifer out. If we get the colt, at this point it's a risk worth taking.”

Cas nodded, and they agreed. They went back to Crowley and Bela to agree to work with their information.

“Oh,” Crowley held up his hand and looked at Cas. “One last thing. If this works, you and me, we'll be on the same side. I'll take over Hell, and you'll be my earth-bound allies. You'll owe me favours.”

Cas clenched his jaw. “Fine.”

“But then what if you fail?”

“We won't fail.”

“That's not what you said last time.”

Cas glanced furtively at Dean, wishing Crowley would shut up. “We will not fail, Crowley. You have my word.”

“Well,” Crowley took a deep breath. “What kind of universe would it be if an angel's word didn't count for anything? Deal.”

He took a step closer so Cas took a step back.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “You are familiar with how demon deals work, right?”

Cas extended his hand. “This will have to suffice.”

“Prude,” Crowley stuck out his hand and took hold of Cas's, using the opportunity to roughly pull him closer and hold him in a menacing stare. “Now, before you get any ideas,” he growled, holding Cas's hand tightly. “This doesn't mean you get out of the deal. You try and double-cross me, and the wrath of Hell will rain down on you, capiche?”

“Yes,” Cas replied steadily. “I capiche.”

“Well then,” Crowley grinned. “I'll be in touch.”

* * *

After their meeting with Crowley and Bela, Dean was still not at all sure that they could trust them, or that they had done the right thing. He was concerned about walking into another trap in another attempt to get the colt.

Cas tried to reassure him, reminding him again of Crowley's motives. “We will get the colt this time. We're gonna do this Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean chuckled. “With the help of Crowley, who's a demon, and his double but maybe triple agent Bela, who's also a demon. Awesome.” He threw himself to sit down on the couch, and Cas went over and sat in his lap, just because he could. Dean wrapped his arms around Cas and held him there, and they let a few minutes go by in silence.

“Cas?”

“Hmm?”

Dean licked his lips and hesitated. “After this is all over, what are you gonna do?”

“Uh...” Cas hadn't given that much thought. Defeating Lucifer was a fixed point on the horizon, beyond which he could not see. It had assumed such singular importance that it felt as if time was due to come to a screeching halt after that. “I don't know.”

“What do you... what do you  _want_?”

“To stay here, I suppose, unless it holds too many bad memories.” Cas replied, thinking of Camp Chitaqua with  _their_  cabin and its little vegetable gardens. If there were no Croatoan, he could go walking through the forest, and swimming in the lake. “This is the kind of place I would like to live, away from cities and towns, with gardens and farms and bees...”

Dean looked away thoughtfully. “This place is home to you?”

“Yes.” Cas narrowed his eyes. “Isn't it home to you? We live here.”

“We  _survive_  here,” Dean corrected, gruffly.

“For now...” Cas replied, slowly. “What do  _you_  want? After this is all over?”

“Cas,” he said softly. “There is no 'after this is all over' for me.”

Anxiety coiled itself around inside Cas's gut. “Don't say that.”

Dean rubbed Cas's arm. “Then I don't know. But you – you'll be okay. Heaven will come back. You can be an angel again. In a few million years, all this'll just be like a bad dream you had as a kid.”

Cas remained quiet for a long time. He knew that Dean was wrong about that, he knew that nothing would ever be as it was for him after the events of the past few years. Cas's view of the universe had undergone such a drastic shift that it was difficult to comprehend, let alone explain though the English language. But certainly, nothing would ever be the same.

“Maybe,” Cas said absently, conscious of the fact that neither of them had said anything for a long time. “Maybe not.”

“Why not?”

Cas took a deep breath. “I've changed. I'm not an angel anymore. I might be too human now, stuck in a rift between the two.”

“Damn,” Dean held him closer. “Because you have a soul?”

“That is still uncertain,” Cas replied. “But a human soul cannot simply blip out of existence.  _Something_  has to happen to it.”

Dean let out a defeated sigh. “I never wanted this to happen to you, you know that, right?”

“Yes. I know. I'm sorry.”

“No–” Dean ran his fingers through Cas's hair and held his head closer. “Don't be sorry, dammit.” He took a deep breath. “You'll be okay, Cas. There's still time to change the road you're on.”

Cas nodded softly until he was suddenly struck with a realisation. “Is that from a Led Zeppelin song?”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Bible stuff referring to John (whose birth was supernaturally brought about by God, born to an old man with a barren wife) is basically similar to what I believe about Chuck, though Chuck's situation is very different from that in many ways. I don't think it's as simple as “Chuck was God” though I understand that interpretation. I think Chuck was sort of created by God and inhabited by God, but he is not God, per se, he does not know that he is of God, he doesn't remember being God, or whatever. I don't think he knew he was God until he got to the end of the story in Swan Song, when he probably had some kind of revelation.


	18. Escape

" _Cas!"_

_Cas kept running and Sam - or more likely Lucifer - kept chasing him. Cas clambered on top of a wall that encircled an expansive pond. He closed his eyes. He knew he was dreaming – if he could control the dream–_

_Opening his eyes, Cas saw that, as he had intended, the water was gone. Several feet below him was the bone dry concrete of the artificial pond's basin. This was a park of some kind, though where it was, Cas wasn't sure. Cas tried to get himself to jump, though his every instinct told him not to, convinced of the real danger of falling._  Die in the dream, wake up in real life,  _Cas told himself._

_Cas took a deep breath and prepared to let himself fall forward, but something grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him down from the wall. "No!" Cas cried out and fought against the man's grip._

" _Cas," Sam shouted in his ear, "Calm down, it's me!"_

_The Sam of Cas's dreams was nothing to be calm about. The Sam of Cas's dreams was not anything like Sam; it was a terrible construct of Cas's mind to exacerbate his guilt about everything, made all the worse by using Sam's face. "Let me go!" Cas shouted, trying to break away, but Sam dragged him back from the path to sit on a shallow grassy hill. The other people passing by in the park turned to look at them, especially at Sam, but they did not intervene. By the time Cas realised that he could probably make them help him, he had lost all the will to do so. He slumped back against Sam._  

" _Cas," Sam moved to sit beside Cas, so they could see each other, though Cas was reluctant to look at him in case he saw a corpse, or the younger Sam he had let down – or Lucifer with Sam's face, smirking back at him._

_This time, however, he just saw_ Sam _. Sam looked like one might expect him to look five years later: five years older, more filled out, with longer hair. Cas blinked and just looked at him. He knew this wasn't really Sam; this was a dream, nothing was_ really _anything, and yet this time, it looked like Sam._

_Sam raised his hands in a gesture of friendliness. "Will you please let me explain, tonight?"_

_Cas swallowed hard. "Explain what?"_

" _It is really me," Sam assured him. "Well, it is now, anyway."_

" _I don't understand."_

_Sam smiled and looked down at the grass. "When you contacted me," he explained, slowly, "you took back more than just the words I said to you. You took back a piece of me – like an echo, a photograph – by your taking it from me, I didn't lose it. It's like the essence of who I am now._ Sam: A Summary. _But you took some of Lucifer too."_

_Cas nodded. "It's Lucifer that's been tormenting me?"_

" _It's_ you _that's been tormenting you," Sam replied quickly. "But yeah, also, partly Satan. Satan's kind of a downer."_

_Cas laughed, and sat with Sam in silence for a moment, feeling more relaxed. "I miss you, Sam," Cas said simply, although he knew he was really just talking to himself, and the real Sam would not get to hear this. "I wish we had been better friends."_

" _We were friends," Sam frowned. "We are friends."_

" _I mean, I wish we had spent more time together," Cas clarified. "If we had had the opportunity."_

" _Me too. How's Dean?" Sam asked. "I know the answer can't get back to me – but that's what I want to know. That's what I worry about."_

" _Dean is..." Cas paused, but Sam seemed to understand Cas without him needing to answer._

_Regardless, Cas started to talk suddenly, the weight of all he had been carrying rushing out of him, as he rambled about how he worried about Dean, how Dean was so singularly obsessed with the colt, Cas's mostly private fears that the colt wasn't even powerful enough to kill Lucifer, Cas's fears for Dean, how he thought it unlikely that Dean would survive if he tried to kill Lucifer and failed, and even more unlikely that he would survive if he tried to kill Lucifer and succeeded._

_Sam listened patiently, his face soft and turned down with concern and defeated sadness. "I wish there was something I could do. But I can't undo what I've done."_

_Cas nodded. He wanted to ask Sam why he said 'yes' to Lucifer in Detroit – but he knew that Sam would surely see it as mistake now, and wouldn't want to dwell on it. Cas was afraid of talking about it, afraid of speaking in an accusatory tone that he didn't want to take with Sam._

_Cas leaned forward awkwardly for a hug, which made Sam raise his eyebrows. "Dude, seriously?" Cas shrugged, and Sam added, "I didn't think you were a 'let's hug it out' kinda guy."_

" _I'm not," Cas agreed, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder, which felt entirely real. Dreams were still unnerving like that. Sam hesitated and shifted awkwardly so they could put their arms around each other, and the hug was something ill-defined, as Cas didn't generally hug anyone – he didn't even_ hug _Dean all that much. Probably not as much as he should. He was conscious of the warmth of someone he cared about, fading in and out of focus._

* * *

"Cas?"

Cas woke up to find himself curled around Dean's back, arms around him tightly.

"Cas, you okay?"

"Sam," Cas said vaguely, blinking himself awake until he could separate the dream from reality.

"You dreamed about Sam?" Dean tensed and sounded concerned, knowing the kind of dreams Cas usually had featuring Sam, the nightmares.

"Yeah. It wasn't like the others," Cas yawned, his thoughts still muddled and slow. "It was like talking to him. I hugged him."

"You  _hugged_  him?" Dean replied, incredulously. "Did you ever even hug Sam in real life?"

"No," Cas answered, his face pressed to Dean's back. "At the time you and Sam parted company I had never hugged you, either. Hugging people wasn't something angels did."

* * *

Cas still found it very difficult to separate dreams from reality, as he wasn't used to having them, but he knew he had not left the camp and had not spoken to Sam, so that was a dream. Sometimes he wondered whether he was maintaining some kind of telepathic connection to Sam, but he knew that that was impossible.

He wondered, then, whether this process had worked in reverse, and what Sam had taken back of him. He wondered whether Sam could still dream, and whether in those dreams he spoke to Cas, and Cas could in fact tell him all about Dean if Sam dared to ask. If Lucifer had nothing better to do, he might keep Sam perpetually awake to torment him, but Lucifer was busy. Sam probably dreamed sometimes, as Dean had done, even in Hell. Cas found the idea at least a little bit reassuring, and made him all the more determined to save Sam.

The farm along the road became the forum for meeting with Crowley and/or Bela, mush to the chagrin of its occupants. Dean and Cas arrived there one oppressively hot day in August, the kind of day where the heat seems to stifle everything and everyone, and all anyone felt like doing was going to sleep, or desperately seeking ways to cool down.

Crowley was already there, sitting on a swing bench on the porch as if he owned the place. Technically, Cas supposed, he  _did_  own the place.

"Good morning," Crowley called to them.

The greeting was then repeated by another voice, behind Cas and Dean.

Cas span around to see Bela, and narrowed his eyes at her. Yet again, she seemed to have sneaked up on him. She didn't  _register_  with him in the way that Crowley registered with him. "Why do I never sense your approach?"

Bela raised her eyebrows. "I'm fine thanks, how are you?" she quipped, before answering, "I don't know what you mean."

"Other demons, I sense them getting closer. But not you. You can sneak up on me."

Her mouth turned up at one corner. "Perhaps you're just off your game."

"No," Cas insisted. "It's only you. You haven't been in Hell long enough to become a demon. I don't know what you are."

Crowley interjected, "You can see her true face, can't you?"

"Yes, but–"

"But what?" Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Do we all look the same to you?"

Cas rolled his eyes in impatience, not wanting to admit that he did actually find it hard to tell  _how demonic_  a demon was based on its face, as their faces varied tremendously in ways that were difficult to comprehend.

Crowley came down from the porch. "Well," he began, "I suppose you want the latest gossip on Duane. We know that he's coming by Kansas City in a few weeks."

"Good," Dean nodded.

"We'll keep you posted," Crowley assured them.

Reluctantly, Dean agreed to have regular meetings with Crowley so that the demon could keep them appraised of what was going on.

Dean and Cas accepted all this, at least until the demons were gone, and they were back at the camp, where they could speak privately.

"I still don't know about this," Dean grumbled. "Working with demons, with Crowley, with Bela. Demons are only ever out to screw us."

"True," Cas agreed. "But they want to, uh, screw Lucifer even more than they want to screw us right now. That's what makes this possible."

"I hope it  _is_  possible," Dean said.

Cas nodded and rested a hand on Dean's shoulder. "We just have to remain cautious. Their history of misprision disturbs me as well."

"Misprision," Dean repeated, thoughtfully.

"It means they've been unreliable and–"

"I know what it  _means_ ," Dean frowned. "I just mean you know some cool words."

"I know all words," Cas replied. "In all languages."

Dean raised his eyebrows at Cas, as being confronted by Cas's non-humanity reminded him that Cas was not like him, that he was something  _other_. Cas didn't want to be other. He wanted to be part of something, and yet even now, he wasn't really part of anything.

Dean smiled at him and dismissed the matter with humour. "Now I remember why we don't play Scrabble anymore."

Cas smiled and Dean touched him affectionately on the arm before going on, "We still gotta be careful. We can't trust Crowley and Bela."

"No further than we can throw them," Cas chimed in, to which Dean smiled. Cas went on, "I don't like this either, but I don't think we have any choice. There's nothing more we can do without them."

Dean sighed. "I know all that. I just don't like it. If this gets us killed..."

"It won't. I won't let it. Dean," Cas kept on, as Dean looked like he was going to argue the point, "I won't let anything happen to you."

Dean nodded and clapped Cas on the shoulder. "Same."

* * *

In the August heat it was tough to get to sleep – with temperatures soaring into the mid to high 40s every day. The sky rumbled overhead with endless lightning storms and flash downpours, wherein the rain drove down and seemed to do nothing but bounce out of the systems they had in place to collect it so it could be purified and drank. These were not the work of the Staff of Moses, merely Lucifer's standard lightning storms. He was in America, criss-crossing it at a leisurely place and destroying all that he wanted to destroy.

Dean and Cas were trying to nap during the middle of the day, as it was too hot to do anything else, but were disturbed by the army demanding entrance to the camp. Chuck came to tell them of this, and the soldiers waited. There were only six of them, which was six too many as far as Cas was concerned.

Reluctantly, they got up and got dressed. Dean generally only wore jeans, though it was much too hot for that, so he pulled on some dark tan pants which technically belonged to Cas, though at this point their clothes were practically indistinguishable. Even putting on a t-shirt seemed insufferably stifling, and Cas delayed in getting dressed for as long as he could. Thanks to a combination of mild dehydration and not being able to sleep properly, Cas had an interminable headache, and he hated it.

The soldiers were tested for Croatoan before they were permitted to enter the camp. After greeting them Dean stayed to talk to them, from the other side of the fence, and Cas went back to the cabin briefly to get more drinking water. While he was there he flicked through a stack of documents left on the metal shelving unit in the corner, finding one envelope that they had been given several months previously. Inside was a red recruitment poster, encouraging people to join militia forces. Thanks to some impulse, Cas looked around the cabin and decided that he was going to put the poster up. He decided on a place round the corner from the door. It amused him, though he didn't really know why. It was too hot, and Cas shook his head at himself and drew half a litre of water to make himself more alert.

Cas then picked up a large plastic tankard that he had filled with water, and moved it to the meeting cabin, which was what he was actually supposed to be doing. He was quickly joined there by Dean and the men from the army, who filed in. Dean and the sergeant sat, but as there weren't any more chairs anymore, everyone else stood.

Dean leaned back and put his feet up on the table, crossing one leg over the other, looking supremely confident and in control of everything.

After some preamble, Sergeant Baker stated, "We need your help."

"For what?"

Sergeant Baker paused and took a deep, huffing breath before he explained. "We need to get this Croatoan situation under control. We've got a plan for rounding these people up, getting them all to one place."

Cas narrowed his eyes. "Getting them all to one place for what?"

Baker shot him a suspicious look and focused on Dean again. Dean looked back at him carefully, his voice even and emotionless as he confirmed, "You're asking me to help you corral people into a confined space so that you can kill them all."

"Croats, not people," Baker quickly corrected. "There's no cure. They're just mindless killing machines, practically zombies. We've already got this operation underway in lots of towns. I suppose you've heard of Hot Zones. Kansas City already is one. Nobody's supposed to be going there. So we make it so they really can't get out, and then we go to town.  _Level_  the place if we have to."

Dean nodded and thought for a moment. Cas's chest felt tight as he awaited Dean's response, which, when it came, was just as disappointing as Cas had expected.

"Okay." Dean nodded. "You got a plan?"

The Sergeant did, and he presented a number of maps and diagrams on how he was planning to "flush out" croats from the countryside and get them into the Hot Zone in Kansas City – a place that was already pretty much wasteland, apart from a mass of croats (and some people) who subsisted there.

"And when we get 'em there," Baker concluded, "we kill 'em. Shoot 'em, drop bombs on 'em, whatever it takes."

Cas chipped in with, "Murder on an industrial scale," before he could stop himself.

Baker looked at him disparagingly. "Internal defence, boy."

Cas narrowed his eyes at being called  _boy_  by someone he was senior to by millions of years.

Seeing as, apparently, no one else was ever going to ask, Cas asked, "And how will you know that everyone you flush out will be a croat? What about the people that are hiding out there? What about the people who still live in Kansas City?"

Baker clenched his jaw and nodded. "Ain't many people living out in the middle of nowhere or that hell-hole anymore."

"But there are  _some_ ," Cas insisted. "What are you going to do for them?"

"Cas," Dean spoke up, his voice hard, dismissive and final. "You have to look at the bigger picture here."

"Because I'm a bigger picture kind of guy," Cas snapped, starting to feel ill with the abhorrence of this.

The Sergeant went to speak, but Dean put up his hand and spoke directly to Cas instead. "Look, I get it. You don't want any innocent people to get swept up with a bunch of croats. I get it, I do. But Cas, we don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," Cas replied, authoritatively, stepping up to the table and leaning forward over it.

"People on their own out there," Dean went on, "it's just a matter of time for them as it is. There's nothing we can do for them."

"Why don't we go out and find them, bring them back here, places like here–"

Sergeant Baker interjected, "You start doing that on any kind of scale and the croats'll know something's coming for 'em. They'll know we're planning something."

"If your plan's as good as you say it is," Cas retorted, "then that shouldn't matter."

"Cas, we need the element of surprise." Dean stared hard at him before going on. "Come on, if they know we're coming, they'll scatter, or they'll set us up, they'll kill more soldiers. Think about it. We'd probably lose more than we'd even manage to save–"

" _Probably_ ," Cas repeated. "So we're not even going to try to save anyone?"

"Cas, we can't."

Cas stood up straight, staring down at Dean. "There was a time when saving people mattered to you," he growled.

"Hey, I'm still trying to save people!" Dean shouted. "And if we take out croats by the thousand, think how many more we're gonna save!"

"You are so... so  _far off the reservation_ , Dean," Cas fought to keep the emotion out of his voice. "Everyone matters and we should at least try to save everyone. If the plan involves innocent people dying, then we find another plan! You taught me that. You used to care!"

Dean sighed and got to his feet and rushed over to Cas, standing in front of him and imposing himself in Cas's personal space. "You don't seem to get it," he growled. "These are the decisions I have to make. You spend your time worrying about philosophy and reading Kafka and getting high, and meanwhile I'm the one who has to make these sorts of calls all the time. It's a screwed up, violent world now, Cas, get over it!"

"Don't speak to me as if I'm naïve," Cas retorted, rising to the confrontation, stepping into Dean's personal space and standing straighter, making himself as tall as possible. "Don't you  _dare_."

Dean shook his head with a wry grin. "Then what ever happened to  _understanding the pressure I'm under_ , Cas?"

Cas rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything, Dean barked, "Get out," and turned away.

"No," Cas replied.

Dean moved even closer, maintaining constant eye-contact with Cas. "We'll talk about this later. Just go."

"No. I don't take orders from you."

" _Cas_ ," Dean stared hard at him. "I am doing this. Stay or go. This is happening."

Cas paused for a moment to shake his head and look at Dean with profound disappointment. "You have become everything I joined you to fight against," he spat, turning around before Dean could reply and swiftly leaving the cabin.

Cas was back at their cabin before he remembered that there had been six other people present in the room for his and Dean's argument, and he wondered briefly what they thought of how closely they had stood to one another, how they stared into each other's eyes, how intensely they had spoken to each other.

Dean had never taken Cas's orders, but Dean would generally listen to him. Dean could be reasoned with, Cas tried to assure himself. When Dean came home they would talk like reasonable people and the right decision would be taken.

That wasn't exactly what happened.

Dean came in and immediately slammed the door. Cas looked up quite coolly from where he sat on the couch.

"What the hell?" Dean demanded. "What the hell was that?"

"I was expressing my opinion," Cas replied. "Regardless of whether you wanted to hear it or not. Isn't that what I'm  _for_?"

Dean made a noise of frustration and kicked off his shoes. "You made us look like a couple of amateurs," he scolded. "You never see them arguing like that, so why–"

"Maybe," Cas posited, with an irritated glare, "unlike the soldiers and the sergeant, I don't defer to you because you are not my commanding officer. And you never will be."

Dean didn't exactly address that issue. "Get up," Dean snapped.

"Why?" Cas asked. "You plan to fight me?"

Dean took a step forward, as if he might pull Cas to his feet by force – so, with a great show of annoyance, Cas stood before Dean got that chance. Dean stepped right into his personal space and held the side of his neck, closing his fingers around Cas's hair, holding him in place.

Cas smirked. "Are you going to show me my place, Dean?"

Dean narrowed his eyes, and was motionless for a moment. He then pulled Cas by the hair, leading him to the bed. Cas kept behind Dean and shoved him down onto it before Dean could shove him.

Dean rolled them over, and the two of them wrestled with each other, the aim of the game apparently being to see who ended up on top, with everything that implied. Dean threw Cas off him at one point, and Cas got up on his knees, watching as Dean got up on his knees too, facing Cas. They were both breathing hard, and Dean edged closer, his hands fisting in Cas's shirt.

Their eyes burned into each other for a long moment, shining with excitement and no small amount of anger, dark with arousal. They simultaneously moved, their lips crashing together in a deep, messy kiss that was both a release of tension and a way to increase it further. Cas held the side of Dean's face with one hand as he kissed his way to Dean's ear over the hot, flushed skin. Dean dropped his lips to Cas's neck, hands under Cas's shirt, and suddenly Dean was  _everywhere_ , all over him.

He tried to push Cas onto his back again, and this time Cas let him. Dean got between Cas's legs and smirked at him, pushing Cas's shirt up and off, before raising himself up to remove his own shirt. Cas stayed where he was and drank in the sight, let Dean think that he had complete control over everything – though he soon realised that he didn't, as Cas tightened his legs around Dean's hips and wouldn't let him move.

Cas could feel the straining movements of Dean's hips as he tried to grind himself against Cas, but Cas was holding him too tightly for it to be possible. Cas clung on to Dean's body and pressed his face to a broad, freckled shoulder, kissing his skin and drinking in the heat and sturdiness of Dean's body, the particular way that he smelled, like sweat and soap and the outdoors.

Dean put all his weight on Cas, and then rolled over to the side, pulling Cas with him, so they were side by side on the bed, legs entangled. There was a kind of race, then, to shed their pants, kicking them off, knowing that whoever finished that first would leap on the other and get on top again. Cas shed his pants faster and leaped on top of Dean, slotting one leg between Dean's and planting his hands on Dean's shoulders, using his weight to hold Dean down – though he weighed less than Dean did and Dean could push him off easily enough – and he did so.

They were both out of breath by this point, and Dean lined himself up with Cas, so their erections were side by side, pressing them together. Cas threw his head back on the bed and reached between them to hold them both, letting Dean roll his hips and control the movement, letting Dean take control of this for the moment. Only for a fleeting moment did Cas give any thought to their conflict, and that was quickly forgotten, consumed by the heat of the moment that they were in.

Dean lowered himself down and kissed him, urgent, aggressive, needy kisses that Cas responded to in kind. Dean was above him then, the weight of him holding Cas down – though Cas could push Dean off him if he really tried, but he didn't feel like trying. Dean cupped the side of Cas's face and roughly swiped his thumb over Cas's lips, before bringing his fingers to Cas's mouth and pushing two of them inside. Cas closed his lips around them and sucked them into his mouth, closing his eyes and moaning around them too for good measure. Dean added another finger and Cas let himself enjoy it, closing his eyes and moaning around them.

"You really like this, don't you?" Dean asked, his voice low and rough. Cas made a noise of assent and opened his eyes.

When Dean finally broke away he pulled his fingers away and got off Cas. Cas went to roll them over and get on top, but before he could Dean had grabbed hold of his hair and pulled Cas's head towards his crotch. Cas looked up at him defiantly, but nevertheless leaned down, opening his mouth wide and taking Dean's cock into his mouth in one movement. Dean let out a loud moan, his hand on the back of Cas's head, holding him there. Cas could only move when Dean relented the pressure, but he quickly applied it once more to push Cas back down.

Dean lay slightly on his side, reaching behind himself to use his spit-slicked fingers to open himself up, urgent sounds of pleasure and want and _need_ rising from his chest and out of his mouth. Cas's mouth was still around his cock, and Dean pulled at Cas's hair, and asked, "You like that?" Cas hummed in response, the vibration obviously affecting Dean, pulling a loud moan from him.

When he finally pulled away Dean's face was flushed and his chest was rising and falling quickly. Cas crawled up the bed so he was kneeling by Dean's head. He met Dean's eyes and a silent understanding passed between them, and Dean wrapped his mouth around Cas's dick, only for long enough to get it wet.

"Get up," Cas said roughly.

Dean glared back at him, so Cas pulled him by the arm, pulling him off the bed to stand up, and then pushed him up against the wall, facing it.

Dean muttered something under his breath that Cas didn't hear, but he had his legs apart, ass out,  _wanting it_. Cas's left forearm crossed Dean's back and kept him still, and with his right hand he guided himself in through Dean's tight entrance, inspiring a gasp from him.

Cas waited for a moment, let Dean adjust to this while he got a grip on Dean's hip, and then he started to move. Dean pressed his hands to the wall, his fingers curling as he searched for something to hold onto, eventually opting to ball his hands into fists and pressing the sides of them to the wall on each side of his head, as he stood there and took it,  _took it like a man_ , as Cas remembered that Dean would probably say.

Pressing himself to Dean's back, Cas rolled his hips steadily, feeling how Dean's body responded to the movement, to his every touch by arching into it, responding with need. Cas opened his mouth over Dean's shoulder, biting him, pressing sounds of raw pleasure into his skin. Cas wanted to see him, wanted them to see each other, and somehow he got the impression that Dean wanted the same thing.

Cas pulled out and Dean turned around before Cas could make him turn around. Cas leaned down, hooking his hands behind Dean's thighs to pick him up. Dean wrapped his arms securely around Cas's shoulders and smiled at him, cheeky, almost mocking him. "You think you're strong enough for this?"

Cas picked Dean up and pushed him into the wall by way of a reply. Dean looked at him with lust-darkened eyes as Cas eased himself back inside. If the relative lack of preparation and the less than ideal lube situation was uncomfortable for Dean, he didn't show it. Or maybe he liked it like that.

"Come on, dammit," Dean growled, his legs tight around Cas's waist, his heels on Cas's ass, pulling him in, guiding Cas's movements despite his submissive position.

Cas had the feeling that he was angry with Dean, but for the life of him couldn't remember what it was that they'd been arguing about, couldn't remember much of anything for as long as he had Dean against him. The one thing Cas did have in his mind was that he wanted to make Dean come, wanted to pin Dean to wall, thoroughly screw him and make him come from it – as if that proved some kind of a point, as if that was some kind of a victory. He got himself into a fast rhythm and kept at it, not stopping or slowing down even though he was getting out of breath, even though his muscles started to ache.

Dean hitched his legs up and wrapped them more tightly around Cas's waist, and Cas pressed himself more tightly against him, holding Dean up between him and the wall. Dean reached between them and wrapped his hand tight around his cock and threw his head back, arching his back, and Cas knew he was close – very close.

It only took a few more thrusts before Dean shouted wordlessly and came, spilling all over himself, and Cas felt it too, splashing hot and wet on his stomach. At seeing Dean come Cas followed, the release a sudden and sharp jolt, and he came deep inside Dean, as if that proved some kind of a point, too.

After the final few movements Cas stilled, panting, his arms and legs and back trembling from the strain of holding them in that position. Dean shifted, lowering his legs, so Cas pulled out, moved away from him and then collapsed on the bed, trying to get his breath back.

Dean grabbed the towel and cleaned himself up, flopping down next to Cas, and for a few minutes after that, they lay there, quietly, breathing returning to normal.

As the pleasure subsided, Cas remembered what they had been talking about before this, about what Dean was doing, and Cas suddenly felt his mood crash into dejection, which could happen without the affection afterwards, and he thought about Dean going out with the army to round croats up into Kansas City and then bomb the hell out of them.

Cas got up, cleaned himself up too, and got dressed in silence. Dean pulled on his underwear, and watched Cas carefully. "You're still pissed with me?"

"Yes," Cas confirmed.

"Yeah," Dean replied, wryly. "I could tell."

"Sorry."

Dean shrugged and stretched himself out. "Don't be. I like it like that, sometimes."

Cas just nodded.

Dean drew in a deep breath, stretching himself out more before relaxing the tension in his body, sighing. "I won't make you be part of this operation in Kansas City," he said levelly, "or even support it. If you don't want to."

Cas went over to the corner of the room and got himself a glass of whiskey. "I won't be part of it," Cas stated. "I won't support it. I won't even condone it."

"Fine, don't," Dean replied in irritation. "I'm still doing it."

"I know," Cas returned, stiffly. "And I can't stop you."

Silence fell between them, and Cas went over to the couch to sit down. He felt spent, exhausted and defeated. He knew that he was ultimately powerless to make anyone do anything.

Dean was still lying sideways across the bed, still naked apart from his boxer briefs, staring up at the ceiling. "So that's it?" Dean asked. "We just play house now?"

"Would you prefer to argue? We can argue more, if you want."

Dean rolled over onto his stomach and propped his head up on his arm, looking at Cas. "I get it, okay? You care. I know."

Cas looked back at Dean levelly. "Do  _you_  care?"

"Of course I do," Dean replied, unable to mask his fatigued irritation with the topic. "But long term, I think this is the right thing to do."

Cas span the whiskey round in his glass. "I didn't realise you thought that there  _was_  a long term."

Dean glowered at him. "Well I'd like it if there wasn't – if Lucifer is stopped sometime this year. But if this shit with Crowley and getting the colt goes to shit, I'd like to know that the croats are as penned in as possible while we figure something else out. Okay?"

Cas shrugged. "I don't agree."

"Fine." Dean sat up. "I get it. Don't agree."

Cas nodded and downed his glass of whiskey. He got up to refill it, and Dean sat up and stretched. Cas handed him a glass and poured whiskey into it, pouring another glass for himself. He raised his glass to Dean as if in some kind of toast. Dean did the same, and they both took a drink.


	19. Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: About the non-con warning – it's only really for some undertones of that in this chapter, but I suppose I should leave the warning on the fic, just in case, idk. But yeah it's not that bad (I toned it down from what I originally wrote because it was just unnecessary and I didn't want it in the story anymore). Anyway, this chapter is nothing worse than has actually happened on the show, in the halcyon days of season 1.

" _Sam," Cas smiled as he stepped into a diner, somewhere, it could be anywhere, and saw Sam sat at a table by the door._

_As was the nature of Cas's dreams, other angels were also there, those he had known in Heaven, such as Rachel and Hester and, crucially,_ not _any angels who were disobedient. They kept quiet and still like statues, sitting in audience of the proceedings. Cas wondered whether that was a way of his not exactly subtle subconscious reminding him that at this point, no matter what happened, Heaven would probably never take him back. Well, Cas didn't care if they didn't._

_As Cas sat down a waitress brought them both pancakes. Cas didn't even really like pancakes so he wasn't sure why he dreamed that. He looked across at Sam. "I haven't seen you for a while."_

_Sam smiled weakly. "You don't dream about me anymore." Sam didn't say it as an accusation, but Cas felt sorry nonetheless. "I'm fading away," Sam shrugged. "It was never gonna be permanent."_

" _I'll contact you again," Cas promised. "Pamela, Dean and I – we'll contact you again, I'll tell you everything I've told you in my dreams."_

_Sam shook his head. "Don't hurt yourself, Cas. Not for me. Lucifer took back a snapshot of you, too. He knows everything. He know your plans, know your thoughts, your feelings – but only those from the time you were in contact. You and Dean know more now – and you won't be able to hide that from him. He'll have too much advantage over you if you contact him again."_

" _You're reasoning with me," Cas shook his head. "You're saying things that Sam could not have known. You've become the face to my own subconscious – you're not you so much, anymore."_

" _I'm not me, so much," he agreed, sadly. "I still know things. Things you need to know, but you've never asked." Cas sat in silence until Sam met his eyes. "Like why I said 'yes' to Lucifer."_

_Cas took a deep breath and leaned forward. "Okay." Cas steeled himself. "Tell me. Why did you say 'yes'?"_

_Sam looked back at him, apparently a little surprised that Cas wasn't taking any particular tone with him, wasn't pre-judging him for doing it – just asking._

" _I had a plan, Cas. I thought I could do it, I really did. And it's the worst mistake I ever made."_

_Cas nodded sympathetically. "What was your plan?"_

_Sam sighed. "There's a spell. I got the rings of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, and if you get all four, they make a key, and with the key you can open Lucifer's cage and push him back inside. Well, I knew I wasn't gonna talk him into it, and I knew I wasn't gonna force him into it either with all his power and all his demons. So I thought – I'll say 'yes'. Let him take possession of me, open the cage... and jump in."_

" _Oh." Even in his dream, Cas felt his stomach knot with anxiety. "Sam, that's... you would have been trapped in Hell with Lucifer for eternity."_

_Sam nodded. "I know. I let him out. It was only right."_

" _Sam..." Cas shook his head, wondering whether if they had all been together as a team they could have come up with a better plan, or maybe even made that plan work. Perhaps if Sam hadn't been alone, if Dean had been there... perhaps it wasn't such a terrible plan, actually. Cas decided right then not to tell Dean this. Dean felt guilty about too much as it was without adding guilt for the things he never got the chance to do to the list._

" _But I wasn't strong enough," Sam concluded. "I couldn't overpower him."_

" _Sam... if you had been able to overpower him, that would have been remarkable. Lucifer is an archangel – the power of archangels tears their vessels to shreds even at the best of times."_

_Sam chuckled. "That's not super reassuring, Cas."_

* * *

This proved to be Cas's last dream featuring Sam. A month had passed and the dreams had become increasingly rare. Somehow Cas knew that whatever scrap of Sam's consciousness he had been holding onto had disintegrated.

Dean did just as he said he would, securing the Kansas City Hot Zone and the army, as Dean phrased it, "bombed the crap" out of it. It was described now as a desolate wasteland, full of fire-damaged cars and buildings, and a few croats. Some of them still lived there, many of them attempted to escape, but the army circled round the city, often using pincer movements to direct all of the croats to a particular place on the outskirts – and then moved in to shoot down as many people as they possibly could.

Dean rarely spoke of it, and Cas tried not to think about it. It festered between them, like a wound, but there didn't seem to be anything to do about it other than ignore it. Cas had made it clear he was never going to agree with all the things Dean was doing these days, and Dean had made it clear that he was doing what he thought he had to. That was that. Cas wished that Bobby were still alive. They could do with his perspective, and Dean would  _listen_  to him, even if he wouldn't listen to Cas.

A few weeks later, the government ordered that much the same thing be done to the Hot Zone in Albuquerque, in New Mexico. That city was inhabited by a far large number of people – people not infected with Croatoan – and did not go over well with the public at all. President Palin defended the actions, though, and to many it seemed like no other choice. Further actions of the same kind were planned. Dean and Cas didn't get to know exactly where, but there were rumours about Houston.

Cas hated knowing that innocent people had died in the fray in both cases, and whenever the thought of it cropped up, Cas would drown it with alcohol. It never did sit easily with Dean, either. He still hardly talked, though. As long as they kept that up, it was like they were maintaining an illusion.

Dean could still be vulnerable to Cas, in private, in the dark. Despite the fact that Dean had become increasingly cold and ruthless in practical matters, if anything, he needed Cas more than ever now, not less. He needed the affection, the support, the surrender of control. And Cas was there, always there, contradictions and all.

On a hazy, muggy morning in September, as Cas watched Dean sleep, he was suddenly struck by an acute awareness of how  _separate_  he and Dean were, how he could never truly  _know_  anymore what Dean was thinking, or how he felt, or what was going to happen. Everything felt terribly insubstantial and ephemeral, including Cas himself.

Dean was lying on his stomach, head turned away. Cas put his arm over Dean's back and held onto him, felt each pulse of blood moving through Dean's veins underneath his skin, felt how warm he was, felt the faint vibrations and other tiny movements that his body made. Dean stirred slightly, but did not wake up.

"Dean," Cas urged him, looking at the clock. It was early. "Dean, wake up, baby."

"Mmm..." Dean shifted and turned his head to the other side on the pillow, so he was facing Cas, and looked at Cas blearily. "What?"

Cas leaned in and kissed him. "It's time to get up."

"Dammit," Dean buried his face in the pillow. "Today we have to talk to Crowley."

"Yes," Cas confirmed. "He might have news this time, from Bela."

Dean chuckled. "Or he might just be stringing us along, wasting our time. Or he might be trying to get enough intel on us to lead us into a trap."

"Are you worried about it?"

Dean shrugged, as best he could in his position. "As long as we get the colt, as long as we get to Lucifer, I don't care." He closed his eyes after that and remained still, like he might go back to sleep.

"Dean?"

No response.

" _Dean?_ "

" _What?!_ " Dean snapped, opening his eyes, though he immediately became less stern when he saw Cas look away sheepishly. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Cas lied. In truth, he was deeply anxious about many things. He had come to dislike it whenever Dean was brusque with him, or when Dean was even impassive or casual, as if he might never see the real Dean again. It was as if a wall was being built up around Dean, with Cas only just hanging on to the tiniest point of contact between the two of them, in a gap in that wall, and the second Cas let go the wall was going to be closed and Dean would be lost to him forever.

Cas couldn't put any of that into words, however, so he just made sure to keep his hands on Dean's skin, as if by the physical contact he could be sure he was still holding on.

"Oh," Dean smiled. "I get it."

Cas copied Dean's smile reflexively, as Dean rolled onto his side and pulled Cas into his arms. They were both naked, and the night before Cas had made love to Dean slowly and sensually, for what felt like hours, and now, as then, the skin-on-skin contact was enormously comforting. Dean's hand rubbed Cas's back, and he kissed Cas on the forehead.

"Dean..." Cas wasn't sure how to start his sentence, nevermind end it. "If anything were to happen–"

"Woah, no," Dean interrupted. "Save the Hallmark. We're both gonna be fine – so no goodbye speeches. We're not letting anything happen to each other, remember?"

Cas nodded. "Okay then." He let a moment pass in silence before deciding that if he spoke fast enough Dean might not get a chance to interrupt. "I just have to apologise–"

"Hey– What? What do  _you_  have to apologise for?"

"For not being able to contact Sam again–"

"Cas," Dean sighed. "I get it. You can't. Lucifer will mess you up, and besides, he'd probably get to know too much about everything we're doing if he Vulcan mild-melds with you now.  _I get it_. It's not your fault that that's how it is."

Cas nodded. Sam had been the first thing to come to mind, but there was so much more. There was Bobby's death, there was the fact that he never managed to convince any angels to come over to his side, there was his inability to protect Dean much at all anymore or to help him shoulder his burdens. "Dean, I've made so many mistakes."

"Hey," Dean rubbed Cas's back. "So have I. I wrote the book on blaming yourself for everything. Don't beat yourself up, Cas. Please."

_Please_. Dean needed Cas to be stronger than this, so Cas just nodded and apologised, and then Dean frowned at him as he knew that something was still wrong.

* * *

"I have good news," Crowley said, cheerily, with an undertone of sarcasm. They were stood outside at the farm, and Dean and Cas waited, tense, wishing that they did not have to talk to him at all.

Crowley explained, "Duane, Meg, and the rest of the breakfast club are trying to raise a creature from Hell. Or a demon, or a demonic creature – no one really remembers at this point. You know how the time goes in Hell, don't you Dean?"

Dean's only reply was a steely glare.

Crowley went on, "But the planets have to be aligned in a certain way; this is a once in a century deal," he said knowingly, going on to explain the precise and complicated details, as well as the location of where they were planning to raise the creature, which was not any great distance away. Crowley concluded, "Think you'll remember that, between the two of you?"

"Yes," Cas replied immediately, pretty confident he could still remember things well.

"Now listen," Crowley said seriously. "It's actually pretty bloody crucial that you two monkeys pull this off, more crucial than catching Duane. I'm trusting you here – so don't screw it up."

Dean retorted, "If we needed lessons in not screwing up, we wouldn't take them from you, Crowley."

"Mind your tongue," Crowley shouted back.

"Stop!" Cas interrupted, tiredly. "This gives me a headache."

"Oh," Crowley feigned sympathy. "And if you have a headache, that's not much good for Dean, is it?"

Cas just narrowed his eyes as he thought about this, but Dean told Crowley to "get lost."

"You'll get the precious bloody colt," Crowley promised them. "Once you have Duane; he'll know where it is. And if he doesn't, Bela will find out eventually. And then it's a smooth road right to Lucifer. Say hi to Sammy for me."

Dean took a step closer to Crowley, fists clenched, but Cas grabbed his arm.

Crowley went on, wistfully, "Ah, Sam, the poor moose. But hey, on the bright side, at least you can put him out of misery, hey Dean? _Put him down_ like a sick dog–"

Dean leapt froward out of Cas's grasp and grabbed Crowley, slamming him up against the porch of the house so hard that cracks shot up the wood.

Crowley merely grinned. "Bring it on, Dean. Whatever you're thinking of doing, I'm sure it'll be nothing I wouldn't do myself on a Saturday night, just for kicks."

Cas took a step closer. "Dean," he urged, "leave him. There's nothing to gain by this."

Dean was silent for a long moment, before roughly shoving Crowley away and stalking back towards Cas, walking straight past him to go.

Cas met Crowley's eyes, and Crowley grinned at him. "Good luck," he called, before vanishing.

* * *

This mission, they were much better prepared for. They went in strong, with every trick in the book; water guns filled with holy water, salt rounds, devil's trap bullets, the knife (carried by Dean), and even a few rudimentary grenades. The grenades worked by exploding and propelling shards of iron and rock salt through the air – very painful to any demons who were struck by them, and, regrettably, very painful for the host bodies that the demons inhabited. But also effective in keeping the demons temporarily incapacitated and distracted, slowing them down.

This time the demons were in an abandoned factory; a cavernous concrete building with shattered glass for windows, though those on the ground floor were all boarded up. It was pitch dark outside as the team from Camp Chitaqua approached, as well as being eerily silent. No insects, no animals, not even any breeze to rustle the leaves.

Taking out the demonic guards outside was easy, something they were well-practised in doing – and this time there were no croats. The demons must not want them around for something as important and sensitive as this.

They entered the building quietly into a deserted corridor, other members of the team guarding the other exits by laying devil's traps outside of them, so that the demons couldn't get out of the building. Cas didn't expect Duane, being one of Lucifer's closest soldiers, to be the type to flee. But Dean speculated that Duane might know they were after him, and consider it in Lucifer's best interests to get away, if he could, so they were doing their utmost to trap him.

Dean and Cas approached the doors to the main factory floor, and through the glass they could see the demons within. There were a hell of a lot of them, around twenty, around an enormous circle and sigils carved into the floor, with which they were going to attempt to open something deep within Hell – but of course they would never get that far.

Cas and Dean looked at each other and nodded, and it began.

They opened the doors and threw the grenades all at once, closing the doors again to protect themselves from the cacophony of explosions going off, just slightly out of time. Charging into the factory floor to try to capture Duane and kill the other demons was a flurry of chaos and smoke and hectic confused activity. Based on Crowley's description Cas recognised Duane, and saw him dash to a side door into a hallway.

_Coward_  flitted through Cas's mind before he chased after Duane, finding himself hurtling into the fray of another fight that was going on, as other demons tried to flee, and soldiers waiting in the hall penned them in.

Black smoke swirled around him from somewhere – and then, it tried to push its way in past his mouth, tried to take possession of him. Of course it couldn't, because of the tattoo on his chest, but it nevertheless  _tried_  and that alone made Cas feel like an icy sludge had been poured down his throat, he retched, and stumbled, his hand scraping against the roughness of the concrete wall, almost falling.

When the black smoke cleared and he regained his composure, he looked up and locked eyes with Duane, black eyes staring back at him, from the confines of a devil's trap close to the door. Cas looked over his shoulder and shouted for Dean, but he was already on his way, bringing the demon-killing knife, which was covered in blood. The other demons, Dean took out quickly, until it was only Duane surrounded by soldiers, and trapped.

Cas turned to Dean, "What's happening inside?"

"Risa and the others are destroying the sigils, but there are still demons there," Dean said absently, staring at Duane all the while.

"Right," Cas nodded. "We go back for them, and then get out of here with Duane."

"Maybe we should just take Duane and go–"

"Dean!" Cas said Dean's name with such force, so loudly, that for a moment Dean stopped completely and just stared at Cas. He seemed to come back to himself, and without a word changed his mind. He told the others to stay with Duane, to not let him escape at any cost, and then he and Cas ran back onto the factory floor.

Risa and the others had already distorted and defaced the carvings on the floor, so there would not be enough time for the demons to make any kind of renewed attempt at the spell.

The soldiers from the camp had carved as many devil's trap bullets as they possibly could, and most of the demons were at least temporarily restrained this way – at least long enough for Dean to dash between them and swiftly dispatch them.

All of a sudden it became rather quiet – they had killed about twenty demons, and were struck suddenly by the gravity and the importance of that. They were not without casualties; Cas recognised a couple of their soldiers lying on the floor, certainly dead, but there was no time to mourn.

Gunshots erupted from the mezzanine overhead, and the scene was alive with activity once again. Cas heard Dean cry out in pain and so immediately ran to him, dragging him over behind a pillar and shouting to Risa and everyone else to get out.

Dean leaned heavily on Cas and tended to the wound in his side. Cas aimed up at the mezzanine, catching sight of Meg staring back at him, gun trained on him. Cas fired, laying down covering fire as they staggered towards the exit of the room together.

"Are you alright?" Cas asked.

"Fine," Dean replied, through gritted teeth. "We should get out of here."

But they didn't get a chance to get out of there, as another demon appeared with a gun trained on them, and he urged them to ascend the staircase which would take them up to where Meg was. In that instant, they had no choice but to comply for fear of being shot at almost point-blank range.

Once up there they were roughly shoved down to sit, leaning back against a round iron pillar, next to each other, and Cas could feel Meg tying his wrists to it, securing Dean, too. She disarmed them both, though Cas imagined, and certainly  _hoped_  that Dean would have a hidden blade somewhere.

Meg then stood in front of them, holding the demon-killing knife that she had taken from Dean, while her colleague stood next to her, gun still trained on them, just for good measure.

"I've always wanted one of these," she said. She looked over the knife thoughtfully before springing back into action and slashing at the other demon's neck, killing him suddenly, and he dropped to the floor.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Dean asked, bewildered.

"He annoyed me," she said dismissively. "I was looking for my chance. Plus, you know – and I think you  _do_  know – there was the small matter of him being a traitor. You're here, tonight, and that means that someone's been giving away our information to Crowley, and I'm pretty sure it was him."

Neither Dean or Cas said anything or even looked at each other. Cas had learned, by that time, that when other people were wrong about things it often best served him to keep quiet and let them stay in the dark.

For something to do to distract from the issue Cas looked at the blood soaked into Dean's shirt, and asked him again whether he was alright.

"It's just a fleshwound, Cas, it's fine–" but Dean was cut off and grimaced in pain when Meg crouched down, grabbed his side and applied pressure to the wound.

"Meg stop!" Cas shouted.

She did stop, and looked over to him.

Cas then realised the severity of the situation, that they may well be trapped here. They had Duane trapped themselves, but apart from that things were not exactly going to plan.

"We have Duane," Cas told her. "This is pointless. They'll go without us if they have to."

Meg chuckled. "So you've got Duane," Meg mused. "Good move, Cas, but in doing it you left your queen undefended."

Dean grumbled and rolled his eyes. Cas said nothing.

"Just tell us what you want," Dean snapped.

"I want Cas," Meg stated simply. "And I always get what I want."

She appeared above Cas and pulled at his legs, pulling him to lie down on the floor. Cas tried to sit up again, but Meg straddled his hips and pinned him to the floor before he had a chance. Cas stared up at her defiantly, and she just smirked in return.

"An angel getting himself all tied up in knots over a demon," she jeered, "if God could see us now..."

"I'm not an angel," Cas responded.

She smiled and rested her hands lightly on his waist and put her weight on his hips, sitting directly over his crotch. "Oh I bet," she grinned. Cas clenched his jaw and fought not to show any kind of reaction.

Dean interjected, "No more games, Meg."

Her eyes flicked over to him with a wry satisfaction. Cas reasoned that she was only treating him like this to annoy Dean, and it was working.

"You let us take Duane, and we let you go," Dean offered.

Meg threw her head back and laughed. "Right. Then the only person I'll have to answer to will be Lucifer. Yeah,  _much better_."

"Come with us," Cas said suddenly. "We'll protect you."

Cas wasn't sure who was more surprised, Meg, Dean, or himself.

Meg raised her eyebrows, incredulous. "You'll do what?"

"Lucifer will kill all the demons," Cas persisted. "No matter how loyally you serve him, no matter how much you love him–" she slapped him hard across the face.

"You're wrong," Meg retorted, with a kind of certainty that it was impossible to argue with.

"Listen, Meg, you were human once–"

Meg interrupted him with a noise of irritation. "Please, don't bring up the embarrassing baby photos. Like I said,  _I got better_."

"You still – you still matter, Meg. To God. To Heaven." Cas met her eyes and really hoped he didn't look like he was lying.

"You think I matter," Meg raised her eyebrows. "Do I matter to  _you_?"

Cas considered that if he could keep her talking and keep her attention focused on him, Dean might be able to free himself, and they might still fight their way out of this. "Yes."

She smirked. "I get all under your skin, don't I, angel?"

Cas swallowed hard. "Yes."

She laughed and looked over at Dean before leaning forward over Cas. "So if I come with you, you'll  _take care of me_ , will you?"

This was getting a bit out of hand. "It would be a fair arrangement," Cas said quickly. "For Duane."

"Oh, is that all?" Meg feigned disappointment. "You don't see yourself as my knight in shining armour?"

"Uh..."

She grinned and then fixed him in a cold, interested stare. "Because honey, I don't  _need_  any knight in shining armour."

"Meg, please," Cas met her eyes and realised that he himself was all he had to offer and was probably his only way out of this predicament unless he and Dean could be rescued. "We will kill Lucifer with or without your help. But you can survive, if you come with us– with me."

"Why?" Meg asked.

"What?"

" _Why?_ " She repeated, fiercely. "See, this is what you don't understand about me Clarence, even though you're just the same. You have your cause, I have mine. I wouldn't give up on serving Lucifer any more than you would give up on trying to kill him."

Dean interjected, "Maybe. But maybe we don't need you to give up." And with that he launched himself at her, having evidently cut himself free, grabbing the knife and slashing her arm before managing to drive the knife into the side of her chest. She cried out in pain but pulled the knife out quickly, letting it clatter to the floor dangerously close to Cas's side, and she pushed Dean away.

There was the orange electric spark of her, flickering from the wound and behind her eyes, and she staggered away from them in an ungainly fashion. She reached the railing and collapsed to the floor, seeming to use what little strength she had left to push herself deliberately under the bar and over the edge. There was a second of nothing, before a distant thud.

Dean was next to Cas then, cutting him free, and Cas let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

He got to his feet, and Dean ran for the door. Cas looked back over his shoulder, taking an abortive step towards the edge, to lean over, to see what happened to Meg.

"Cas!" Dean called to him. "Cas, what the hell? Come on."

Cas collected himself and turned away, leaving with Dean, descending the stairs.

They ran along the corridor and back to the door of the ground floor, where Duane was still trapped. He seemed  _annoyed_  to see them. "I really don't have time for this," he protested, in a sardonic, business-like fashion. "You two monkeys have no idea what to do with me."

Dean cracked a twisted smile. "Oh, believe me, we know  _exactly_  what to do with you."

Duane frowned in incredulity, but did not look at all concerned.

Cas and Dean exchanged a look. They knew it would probably take both of them to get Duane into the handcuffs they had, which were covered in devil's traps and wards to prevent him from escaping.

At once, without needing to verbally communicate anything, they both stepped into the devil's trap and grabbed hold of Duane. They took him by surprise just enough to be able to wrench his hands behind his back and cuff him, though he struggled and swore and lashed out as much as possible. In the fray he managed to strike Cas in the face with his elbow, hard enough to give Cas a nosebleed, the pain of the injury bad enough to distract him into letting go. But by that point, Dean had already got the cuffs on him, and there was no chance of escape.

They got him into the back of their truck, where a devil's trap was carved into the floor. Dean told a few other guys from the camp, half a dozen of them, that they were going to be guarding Duane and working him over, initially.

And then, they drove away. There was no sign of Meg or any demonic activity as they drove back to Camp Chitaqua, and the prison close to it. Cas looked over the back of the seat to check that Duane wasn't going anywhere, though they had taken the precaution of chaining him up, anyway. Duane glared back at him.

Cas turned back around to face Dean. "Do you think Meg died?" he wondered.

"What?"

"Meg," Cas repeated, framing the question in a way that Dean might be interested in hearing, "if she's alive, she will seek revenge on us."

Dean let out a breath. "Yeah, well, she'll have to join the line." Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel and shot Cas a sidelong glance. "Why? Do  _you_  think she died? I mean, I stabbed her in the lungs with the knife, and she didn't smoke out, at least not that we saw."

"I don't know," Cas said honestly. Unless he saw the light go from behind the demon's eyes he was disinclined to believe that they were certainly dead. "Meg has managed to survive a lot of things."

"Yeah," Dean gritted his teeth. "Because Meg is just  _awesome_."

Silence fell after that.

* * *

Duane had been secured at the prison, and the rest of their party returned to the camp.

Dean had decided he needed to grab a little sleep to set himself up for speaking to Duane – torturing Duane – which could take a number of days. Quite apart from that, Dean believed that the anticipation of interrogation would make Duane all the more nervous, that the waiting would wear him down, giving Dean the advantage from the start. Others were keeping him awake, working him over.

Dean had far too much excess nervous energy at that time, though, so much that even taking tranquillisers would have a limited effect on him. He paced around the cabin for several minutes, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself down using the techniques that Cas had taught him.

Finally, he came to a stop in front of the militia recruitment poster that Cas had put up. "What the hell is this?" he asked.

"Rallying the troops," Cas replied vaguely. He stood behind Dean and wrapped his arms around Dean's waist. Dean only tensed up in his arms.

"Are you alright?" Cas asked, worried that he had hurt the minor wound on Dean's side, now covered up by a bandage.

"Fine," Dean snapped, pushing Cas's hands away. "It's just – we're trying to kill Lucifer here, Cas, sorry if I'm not obsessed with sex the way you are."

Cas was taken aback by this dismissiveness. "That wasn't what I was... this is not about sex, Dean–"

Dean's eye was caught by something at the door, so Cas looked that way too. Standing there was Matt. "This is a bad time," Matt said awkwardly, half turning to go.

"No," Dean insisted, "it's fine, come in." Dean shot Cas a sidelong glance. "Matt and I have to talk about ammunition," he said, with a tone that was supposed to explain why Cas should leave. Really, after what Matt had overheard, Dean was just uncomfortable.

Cas narrowed his eyes at him, said nothing, and made for the door.

In a misguided attempt to diffuse the awkwardness, Matt asked, "Trouble in paradise?" which earned him a strict, "What did you come here to tell me?" from Dean.

Cas couldn't hear after that, bounding down the steps of the porch and striding away from the cabin as fast as he could.

He took a long walk around the camp, what somehow felt like his final walk around it. He took in the sights of all of the rows of planted vegetables, the goats that they kept in a pen, the fruit trees. Everyone else was continuing to go about their ordinary business, and Cas supposed that this would carry on being the case no matter what they did. Even if they defeated Lucifer, rebuilding the world to the way it used to be would take decades.

By the time he got back to the cabin Matt was gone. Dean didn't talk much, though he did eat something, drank some whiskey, and then knocked back a couple of pills and collapsed on the bed, and could be more accurately described as unconscious rather than asleep.

Cas curled up next to him and watched. Dean looked so innocent and peaceful when he was asleep; it seemed impossible that this was the same man who was going to spend the next few days – however long it took – tearing a demon apart until it could take no more and told Dean whatever he needed to know. Alastair claimed to have carved Dean into a new animal in Hell, but in truth he hadn't, at all. The torturer was not who Dean really was; it never could be. There was too much good in him for that. Cas knew that, though he wasn't at all sure that Dean did.

He entertained the thought of sneaking out of the camp while Dean was asleep so he could torture Duane himself – but he knew well from past experience that Dean would be furious with him for that. And they were barely holding things together as it was – and now that they had Duane they were probably very, very close to Lucifer indeed, and throwing a spanner in the works between himself and Dean would not be helpful.

Cas thought back to the time that Uriel had Dean torture Alastair, and he got the same ache that he had experienced then, the same desperation to save Dean from such a fate, to bear the burden for him. But Dean was decided on carrying everything himself. 


	20. This Photograph is Proof

When Cas woke up later that day and stretched his arm over to the other side of the bed, he found it vacant and cold. "Dean?!"

"Yeah," Dean said softly, coming to sit on the bed, fading into focus as Cas blinked himself awake. "You okay? You dream about Sam?"

"No, not anymore," Cas replied. All the curtains were drawn, the light in the cabin was dim, and Dean appeared like a shadow, flat, defeated and dark. Cas grabbed hold of his hand, and Dean looked down at it as if this had never happened before.  _He's gone_ , Cas thought, panic gripping him.

"So," Dean began slowly, "You don't think there'll be anymore dreams about Sam?"

"No," Cas replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "I think the snapshot I took of him is gone, faded."

"Shit," Dean sighed. "We've lost everything."

"We still have each other."

Dean didn't reply to that, regarding Cas with a curious expression. "Cas..." he said slowly. "After this - after facing Lucifer, I mean, you're probably not gonna have me. You know that, right?"

"I thought you didn't like  _just in case I die_  speeches," Cas retorted.

"I don't," Dean concurred. "That's not what this is."

"Then what is it?"

"Just..." Dean looked away. "Just look after yourself. You'll be okay. I'm going to speak to Duane."

Cas pulled his hands away and clenched them hands around the pillow to try and muffle his anguish. "Is there any point in my attempting to come with you?"

Dean didn't answer him. "I'll be back when I know what I need to know," Dean told him, picking up his bag, shoving a bottle of amphetamines into it. "Later."

"Bye," Cas said quietly, probably too quietly for Dean to hear.

* * *

Cas had no option then but to await Dean's return.

Chuck spoke to him about dwindling hygiene supplies, and Cas had to tell him that those things were of low priority for the time being, as Dean had other important missions to go on. No one else knew about who exactly Duane was, or how close they might be to actually defeating Lucifer. Neither Cas or Dean wanted to give false hope. Chuck probably knew from his visions, but if he did, he wasn't showing it.

Cas meditated in the hope that he could fill the aching and unbearable void left by his loss of faith, but it seemed to make little difference. It helped him to get a better handle on his thoughts, but that was about all. And his thoughts were not exactly doing anything to make him feel better, and were more likely to drive him to drink or take something to block them out again, preferring it that way, finding it infinitely easier that way.

When Dean finally returned, a few days later, Cas could tell instantly that Dean had got the information he needed, and Duane was dead. Dean came back to the cabin, entering the kitchen, where Cas was busy writing and working out rations. When Dean spoke he spoke quickly, barraging Cas with details, frankly not making a great deal of sense seeing as he probably hadn't slept at all. He got Cas to write everything down. 

"So listen," Dean concluded his explanation of everything Duane had said, "keep this strictly between you and me for now so no one else knows we know – Lucifer's gonna be not too far from here, at a place in Kansas City."

"Well that's convenient," Cas replied, not looking up from his papers.

_It's a trap, Castiel,_  the words of the demon Cas had killed haunted him.

Dean scowled at him. "We know where the colt's gonna be in a week, and Lucifer too not long after that. I need to crash. Talk to Yaeger, get a plan together," Dean pressed a map down on the table and then met Cas's eyes. "Okay?"

Cas clenched his jaw, looked down at the map and nodded curtly. "Okay."

Dean sighed with some relief and then shrugged off his jacket, strolling through to the other room.

Dean was on something of a high; he was pleased with himself,  _proud_  of himself. It made Cas feel sick. Not out of repulsion with Dean, but repulsion with the sorry state of the world that they found themselves in, that Dean was being forced into a corner not dissimilar from what he was forced into in Hell. And Hell warps people, twists people, wears them down until there's nothing left but black smoke.

Dean undressed and glanced at Cas almost as if thinking of asking him to come over to the bed. Although Dean's conflict with the demon had been one-sided, Dean's system was still flooded with the adrenaline for a fight, and he had an excess that he wanted to work off, and  _getting off_  would give him the relief he needed, would put an end to it.

"Get some sleep," Cas said strictly, pulling on his boots, swiping the map off the table and leaving.

He met with Yaeger and Matt and talked about a preliminary plan with them for a short while, mainly going over the routes that they were going to take there and back. He told them that they were planning to ambush some demons to steal the colt, but also told them to tell no one else anything about this.

By the time Cas returned to the cabin Dean was asleep, an open bottle of tranquilisers on the table next to him. Cas put the lid on it and put it away, moving around quietly so as not to wake him, though in truth there was probably nothing short of a nuclear explosion that could wake Dean up in that moment.

Cas lay down on the bed next to him and watched him for a while, watched his chest rise and fall, the slightest flickering of his eyelids, though Dean would probably not be dreaming anything.

Time suddenly felt fragile and ephemeral; Cas was acutely conscious of the fact that the number of days he had left with Dean may well be a single-digit number, and to an angel, a week was no time at all, a blip that would not be noticed, less than the blink of an eye. Even to Cas now, as a human, it seemed terrifyingly insubstantial, and Cas wanted nothing more than to keep Dean with him for a moment longer. The devil on his shoulder, as it were, entertained the notion of melting down the colt, destroying it – but that would be insane, and Cas never actually considered it.

"The colt will work," Cas said aloud, though Dean was not awake to hear him, and Cas was trying to convince himself alone. "Lucifer can be killed. The colt can kill anything."

If it worked, then he and Dean could live on. What kind of life Dean would have without Sam, having killed Sam, Cas didn't know. He couldn't imagine it, couldn't see it happening. He was deathly afraid that the instant it was over Dean would kill himself, or let himself get killed, going up against Lucifer's remaining,  _vengeful_  demons. And if that happened to Dean...

Cas closed his eyes. His mind, or perhaps his soul, rejected the concept and he struggled to get himself to think about it. By the time Cas opened his eyes a couple of hours later, it was still dark, but dawn was approaching, and Cas had grabbed a couple of hours of dreamless, meaningless sleep. Dean had rolled over onto his side to face Cas, though he was still asleep for the time being.

When Dean woke up, about an hour after that, he was entirely different from the way he had been when he had arrived back at the cabin. Dean now was solemn and quiet to the point of being withdrawn, unusual for him. At Cas's insistence he eventually was cajoled into eating some toast, though he left most of that uneaten on his plate. He disappeared for a while, and went out somewhere, perhaps just to be alone.

_Perhaps to pray_ , Cas speculated.  _Perhaps to pray to Michael_. Cas was surprised to realise that he didn't care even if that was what Dean was doing. Mainly because Michael was gone and was not coming back, so if Dean wanted to pray to him, then that was his prerogative. It would do him no good. No more good than praying to God.

When Dean returned he was just as quiet and taciturn as before; the way he held himself denoted that he was resigned to something, that he had his mind in a particular gear, that he had decided precisely what he was going to do, and was purposefully going about doing it. The sun had risen, the light was thin but shining in through the windows of the cabin. A new day had started, and in Dean's mind something else was clearly new, and different.

"Cas," he said softly, sitting down on the couch and clenching his hands together. "I gotta talk to you."

"Okay." Cas sat on the end of the bed.

When Dean finally raised his eyes to Cas, Cas wished that he hadn't. Dean was so tired, his eyes having taken on a glassy quality. They were eyes that looked out, but which could not be looked into.

"Cas," Dean began, though he didn't say anything else for a long time. "I get it."

Cas frowned. "Get what?"

He shook his head. "What you think of me. The things I've done... they're worse than anything you've ever done, worse than anything Sam's ever done."

"Dean–"

"But this," Dean insisted, "This thing with Duane. He was a demon – and now we know where Lucifer's gonna be, where the colt's gonna be. And I need you to..."

Cas sat up straight. "You need me to what? Condone it?"

Dean sighed.

"Well," Cas said steadily, "I do. That doesn't mean I like that you did it, or that you wouldn't let me share the burden of it. But I do understand, Dean."

Dean nodded, not looking at him. "Cas–" he cut himself off. "After all the mistakes that I've made..."

Cas narrowed his eyes. "Are you... are you asking me whether you're beyond redemption? After all this time, after everything?" Dean still wouldn't look at him. "Dean," Cas shook his head. "You were not beyond redemption when I raised you from perdition. You are certainly not beyond it now. Logically, you must know that, but you still don't–"

"Alright!" Dean interrupted, tersely. " _Jesus loves me, this I know_  – whatever – let's move on. Jeez..." Dean trailed off and was quiet for a moment. "Listen, Cas, I..." Dean ran a hand over his jaw anxiously. "I think we should put some distance between us."

"What?" Cas frowned in confusion. "Why?

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "I think we kinda spend too much time together, you know. We need some space. I'm thinking I should get out of here."

Cas looked at the floor and frowned. "You're coming back though, right?"

Dean didn't answer, or look at him.

"Dean?" Cas started to panic; fear and hurt and anger welling up inside him.

When Dean finally did reply, it was a very quiet, "I don't know."

Cas wanted to scream  _What do you mean you don't know?!_ ; Dean was the only thing in Cas's life that he was certain about, and learning that Dean apparently didn't feel the same way felt like a kick to the stomach. "Dean, I..." Cas wanted to say that he could change, that he would undo whatever it was he had done wrong – but he didn't understand what he had done wrong and was not going to meekly apologise for it – for what? – for being himself? In the end, what he managed to say was almost worse. "I don't understand."

"I know," Dean sighed. "You never do. Not really."

"Please–" The word was out of Cas's mouth before he could stop it. Cas took a deep breath and tried to reason with him, "You need me, you said so. Why would you want to go?"

Dean shook his head. "I need you to be happy more than I need you to throw more of your life away on me."

Cas was incredulous. "You think being away from you would make me  _happy_?"

"I don't know," Dean replied, wearily.

"I'm doing all I can to help you," Cas pointed out. "We can work everything out, just like we always have."

Dean looked exasperated. "What exactly do you expect from me here, Cas?"

"It not about what I expect..." Cas sighed. "I'm worried about you, Dean."

"You want to know what my problem is?" Dean asked, combatively. "I'm tired. I am just so  _done_  with this, Cas. You understand? I only keep living so that we can kill Lucifer."

Cas dropped his gaze to the floor. His first instinct was to be appalled, but he couldn't say that he had many better reasons of his own to go on living. "You don't see a light at the end of the tunnel?" He said it as a question, but he knew the answer.

"No." The reply was sharp and painful, but not surprising. "There is no light, Cas. Not anymore. There is no us living here together and growing fucking carrots and making honey or whatever shit it is you imagine I'm gonna spend my time doing after I kill my brother. We don't get to have that, Cas!"

Cas was silent for a long time. "You don't intend to survive killing Lucifer." It wasn't a question.

"It's not about  _intent_ , Cas," Dean replied wearily. "But I don't expect to."

"You don't  _want_  to," it hurt Cas to say the words, but that wasn't a question either. Even though they hadn't spoken in five years, Dean did not want to live in a world without Sam. Cas wanted to feel sorry for Dean, he wanted to empathise, but more than anything else, he felt furious. "Do I mean nothing to you?"

"It's not like that–"

"You would rather die," Cas got to his feet, shouting now, "you would rather get yourself killed and be a martyr for your brother than live any kind of life with me? What  _am_  I to you, Dean? Just a way for you to  _pass the time_  before you end it all?"

"No, Cas..."

Cas fell to sit down again, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands. He hated himself for it but he could feel himself starting to cry – something that  _never_  happened to him – and yet here now was a lump aching in his throat and tears stinging his eyes.

"Dammit," Dean muttered mostly to himself, though he got up, stood over Cas and shouted down at him, "You want to know what you are to me, Cas? You're  _everything_  to me! You're everything I have!"

Cas looked up and Dean stopped, his words hanging heavy in the air.  _You're everything I have_ , once seeming such a grand romantic declaration, now rang hollow as a defeated admittance:  _You're the only thing I have left_. Dean ran his hand over his jaw, and added, softly, "And I can't ask you to be that."

"You don't have to ask," Cas replied immediately. Neither of them was sure of what else could possibly be said.

Eventually, Dean took a deep breath and attempted to explain, "I don't want to leave, Cas, but you're a weakness I can't afford anymore."

"Dammit Dean," Cas snapped. "Haven't you learned anything from what happened to Sam?" Dean's face hardened with fury and Cas knew that he would probably not listen to anymore, but went on anyway, "You are not stronger alone, Dean, you're weaker, we're all weaker, Sam–"

"You don't say another word about Sam–"

"I know you understand that Sam is already controlled by Lucifer, that killing him would release him from being Lucifer's vessel," Cas said as levelly as he could. "But when you go up against him, you're still going to see Sam's face. How exactly do you think you're going to  _kill_  Sam, when you can't even stand to hear his name?!"

Dean lurched towards him, and for a moment Cas was sure Dean was about to punch him, but instead he pulled Cas to his feet and then slammed him back against the wall. "Sam is  _my_  responsibility. Not yours. You  _do not talk about him_."

"I'm trying to  _help_  you," Cas growled. "I love Sam too, but I know with absolute certainty that if it was what I had to do,  _I_  could look him in the eye and still pull the trigger–"

Dean shoved Cas hard and broke away suddenly, turning his back and stalking across the room. He brought one hand up to his face and thought for a moment. "If you think that's such a great idea, why have you never said it before?"

"I have," Cas replied, narrowing his eyes a little in confusion. Dean turned around and looked at him questioningly. "Do you not remember?" Cas asked. "It was before Detroit– before Sam had said 'yes' to Lucifer. We were speaking hypothetically. It was the second time you ever kissed me."

Dean's gaze softened with a look of comprehension as the memory came back to him. Cas went on, "You were arguing with me, you said that Sam would always,  _always_  be your responsibility and yours alone. I promised you that I would do whatever it took – if Lucifer did possess Sam then I would give my life to go up against Lucifer in Sam's body and kill him myself. You refused, you got angry with me, like now. I was frustrated with you – in more ways than one – I shoved you up against the wall, told you you were being selfish and irrational. And then, you grabbed hold of me by the hair and kissed me."

A long moment of quietness passed between them, in which Dean sat down on the bed and looked at the floor, lost in thought. Finally, he said softly, "We've come full circle, then."

Cas was deeply frustrated that none of this seemed to be convincing Dean to stay, none of it seemed to be changing anything. Dean was already quite decided on it, just as he had been on his past attempts to say 'yes' to Michael.

Finally, Cas asked, "Where are you going to stay?"

Dean shrugged. "My cabin. Or with Chuck maybe. I can sleep on the floor."

"Dean..."

"Don't." Dean took a deep breath and stood up, looking around the room as if thinking about what things he was going to take. That made Dean's departure a reality, a tangible fact, and Cas couldn't face it.

"We should have break-up sex," Cas ventured, suddenly.

Dean laughed at the incongruous change of tone and shook his head. "How do you even know that's a thing?"

Cas crossed the room to stand directly in front of Dean and placed both his hands on Dean's waist, meeting his eyes. In moments like this, moments when they were alone and too worn down by life to put up any kind of front, with a look they could exchange more than they could with an hour of conversation, and Cas half thought that he could see Dean the way he used to be able to see him; and he could see Dean's pain, his despair, and his need. And he was quite sure that Dean saw precisely the same thing in him, because that was how Cas felt.

Dean brought his hands up to cup both sides of Cas's face, holding him there, his searching gaze widening from Cas's eyes and looking over his face; not even Cas's true face as an angel, but what passed for his true face as a human, for all intents and purposes. This body had become his and he had become it; if he had a human soul, then this would be roughly the non-corporeal form that it would take, Cas supposed.

Dean let his head fall back, so he was looking up at the ceiling, and took a deep breath before looking back at Cas again, his eyes searching Cas for  _something_. Cas moved closer, his arms encircling Dean's waist, not to kiss him, at first, just to hold him. They slowly coalesced into a hug, Dean letting go of Cas's face and wrapping his arms around Cas's shoulders, holding him close. If there was one thing that Cas regretted in that moment, out of everything, it was that they should have hugged more. He finally fully realised that for all Dean's life sex had been the one arena where he felt like it was okay to ask for affection, affection that he so desperately needed. Cas could have done more to change that, he supposed. There were so many things that could have been better, if he could go back and change them, if they weren't dealing with the end of world, with Lucifer, with the camp...

Sex was easier for Cas to understand, more  _obvious_ , but somehow simply standing in close proximity to each other with their arms around each other was deeply moving too, though why this was the case was more mysterious. It made Cas want to study the phenomenon, examine it, pick apart the details of the process and interpret its meaning – but to do that would be to miss the point. All he knew was that it felt comforting, warm, familiar and safe.

Dean kissed him on the cheek then, cradling the back of Cas's head and holding him tightly, moving round to kiss him on the lips. Dean didn't let go even when he broke this kiss, his forehead pressed to Cas's, eyes closed, as he drew in deep breaths. Cas brought one hand up to the back of Dean's neck, stroking Dean's hair with his thumb as they stood there in silence for a moment. Cas moved in to kiss Dean again, softly this time.

"You sure you want this?" Dean asked against Cas's lips. 

"Yes. Do you?" Cas wasn't sure whether Dean wanted to do this because he would be more comfortable with their affection if he made it a precursor to sex.

Dean smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "I do. You're right; it would be good to... one last time..."

Cas nodded even though he had never  _said_  any of that, but supposed that it was implied by the suggestion.

They stepped back from each other slightly and pulled their shirts off, Dean's hands coming up to Cas's chest to touch him, slow, almost reverent in his looks and his touches, one hand sliding up to Cas's shoulder and to the side of his neck.

Not feeling worthy of any kind of  _reverence_ , Cas held Dean's shoulders and guided him back until he was against the wall, and then Cas surged forward to kiss him, pressing his chest against Dean's. Dean's fingers ran through Cas's hair as he returned the kiss, Dean's tender affection meeting Cas's eager adoration.

Dean's hands found their way round to Cas's back and applied pressure to his muscles, and Cas arched into Dean's body, breaking the kiss and tipping his head back. As Dean worked out the kinks in Cas's back Cas instinctively made grunts and sighs of relief, which Dean evidently liked the sound of as he chuckled in Cas's ear and nuzzled their faces together, cheek to cheek.

Cas slid his hands down Dean's sides, careful to avoid the bandage on Dean's side from being grazed by a bullet during the incidents at the factory. Unfastening his jeans, pulling the zipper down, Cas could already feel the bulge in the front of Dean's pants. Cas moved in to kiss Dean again, more deeply and urgently this time, running his tongue along Dean's lower lip, pulling it gently between his own. Dean returned the actions before cupping the back of Cas's head again and gently pushing his tongue between Cas's lips. Cas's fingers followed the curve of Dean's hip bone down past the waistband on his underwear, and Cas teased at the sensitive skin above Dean's cock on at the inside of his thigh while they kissed. Dean broke this kiss and pressed his forehead to Cas's, and bit on his lower lip just slightly. His eyes flashed up to Cas's and he moved in again, kissing Cas on the cheek, dragging his lips over Cas's stubbled jaw and moving to his ear, pulling the lobe between his teeth and soothing it with his lips, licking the shell of it.

In a flurry of stumbles and urgent hands pushing down pants they made their way over to the bed, shirking their clothes and climbing onto it. Dean laid Cas out on the bed, his hands wandering over Cas's chest, the muscles of his stomach. Eyes glued to Cas, Dean took one hand off him to touch himself, then pulled at Cas's hip with a smile.

Cas met his eyes and rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself up on his knees. He supposed that Dean couldn't be vulnerable in that moment, but tried not to think about that, focusing on what he  _was_  getting.

Dean was gentle with him, slow, methodical, opening Cas up with his fingers, massaging his prostate gently so that the rush of feeling wasn't overwhelming.

"Dean," Cas breathed. "Now."

Dean complied, moving closer behind him, and Cas was so lost in the pure physicality of what was happening that he was free of thinking anything when Dean first entered him, hands massaging Cas's hips. Cas gasped and whimpered, which he didn't usually do, because it just felt so perfect, like it was everything he had ever needed, could ever need.

"You okay, Cas?"

"Yes," Cas breathed. "I... I want..."

Dean hummed and rocked his hips, moving in shallow thrusts deep inside him.

"Dean," Cas gasped. "I have to see you. Please. I need to."

Dean didn't reply for a moment, squeezing Cas's thigh thoughtfully. "Okay," he replied quietly, pulling out.

Cas turned around, and clearly Dean expected Cas to lie down on his back, but he didn't do that. He took hold of Dean's shoulder, guiding him to lie down. Dean looked away, not meeting Cas's eyes, but he still did it, reclining comfortably, his head on his pillow, where he  _belonged_.

Cas got on top of him, facing him, his legs each side of Dean's waist. For a moment he had to shuffle forward, then back a little, until they worked out the best way to position themselves. Dean lifted and spread his legs behind Cas, to give himself better leverage to move his hips. Dean held onto Cas's slim waist to hold him still, and Cas let Dean thrust up into him a few times, getting the right angle.

Cas lowered himself down onto Dean's hips, took hold of both of Dean's hands in his own and intertwined their fingers together, rocking his hips slowly. Cas didn't know whether it was a blessing or a curse to know that this may be the last time – the last time he could see Dean throw his head back and arch his body in pleasure, the last time he would hear Dean gasp and shout out his name, the last time he would feel Dean moving inside him. Dean closed his eyes and sighed deeply as Cas moved, and they got back into a rhythm of Dean bucking his hips up to meet Cas.

Leaning forward, letting go of Dean's hands until he was practically lying down on top of him, Cas repositioned himself, giving Dean all the control over how they moved, how fast, how hard. Cas wanted to give himself over to Dean, give Dean everything he could want or need too.

Dean held Cas's hips and took control, Cas holding onto him, cradling Dean's face in his hands and holding him there for desperate kisses until they were both out of breath, and when they made eye-contact they could almost forget about everything else, and there was only the present moment. Every time Dean slid out of him he created an intense, urgent need deep within Cas, within his body and within his soul, and in the next second when Dean thrust into him again he fulfilled that need, filled Cas up. Cas closed his eyes and focused on that feeling, that raw, human feeling – so simple and yet somehow so endlessly complicated. He could feel every inch of Dean's cock pushing through his entrance until Dean slid home, burying himself completely in Cas, joining them as close as they could possibly be.

Dean's hands slid up Cas's body and around him, until he was holding Cas close, his movements becoming more urgent and erratic. Dean's arms were like a vice around Cas's back and Cas wanted it that way, needed it that way, needed to be anchored to something solid and human and real – and Dean was there, Dean made him feel so much, so alive.

"Dean," Cas gasped, and Dean slowed and stopped, fully seated with him. "Are you close?"

Dean nodded and hummed in affirmation. Cas pulled at his shoulder to turn them around, and they held onto each other tightly as Dean understood and rolled them over, so that he was on top. Cas opened his legs wider and hitched them further up, wrapping them around Dean's back. Dean met his eyes and held his gaze as he started to move again.

He sped up and Cas closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and surrendering to the waves of pleasure rolling through him in response to every one of Dean's thrusts. Cas knew he was close too, could get himself off at any moment now, though he didn't want this to be over. He wished that he could lie there and this would simply happen forever, no climax, no end, just him and Dean, together. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean's back too, until where he ended and Dean began became unclear, they were just one physical being.

Dean kissed the side of Cas's neck as he slowed for a moment, and then sped up again with renewed energy and Cas knew well enough to know exactly what this meant. Cas wrapped his hand around his erection and felt his balls tighten, knowing that he was on the edge of ecstasy, thoughts of anything else banished from his mind.

Dean repeated Cas's name, panting against his neck, and Cas was so painfully close then, seconds away from falling over the edge. Dean held him tighter and kept up his pace, thrusting into Cas hard, gasping out, "Cas–  _Castiel_ –" and that was it, Cas's vision whited out and he found it impossible to breathe as his body throbbed and he came, hard, harder than he had for a hell of a long time. Dean was right behind him, coming just a moment later.

Cas kept his face buried in the crook of Dean's neck as he came down from his orgasm, as they sank together into the mattress, hot and spent. Cas was exhausted and could hardly breathe but this was everything he needed, and he couldn't let Dean go, not just yet.

Dean pushed himself up and Cas reluctantly did let go of him, cold air rushing in to fill the space now between their bodies. But it transpired that Dean didn't move away, instead lying down with his head on Cas's chest.

One of Castiel's hands immediately settled in Dean's hair to run his finger's through it, and he rested the other on top of the handprint on Dean's shoulder. It felt warm, but Cas supposed that every part of Dean was warm, and it probably didn't mean anything much at this point.

Dean lay there in silence for a long time, for a long time after their breathing had returned to normal. At any other time Cas would probably have gone to sleep, but he couldn't in this instance, knowing that Dean was going to leave as soon as Cas let him go.

Dean took a deep intake of breath, and said, hollowly, "I have to kill Sammy, don't I Cas?"

Cas was quiet for a long time, Dean's hair under his fingertips, the soft rise and fall of his body under his hand.

"No Dean," Cas said finally. He sighed. "I don't understand why you insist on carrying all these burdens yourself. I will do it. You know I can do it."

"You can," Dean confirmed. "But you won't, because I won't let you. Sam's my brother. I started this – I have to end it. I can't use you to fix my problems, Cas. It's not right. I've asked too much of you as it is."

"Dean," Cas stroked his hair. "With me, you never have to  _ask_  anything."

Dean pushed himself up and sat next to Cas on the bed. He looked down at Cas sorrowfully and cupped the side of his face, turning him to face himself. "You don't think I'm strong enough, do you?"

"It's not about strength," Cas replied. "You've been tested before, and nothing could make you kill Sam. That is not a  _weakness_ , Dean. Your love for Sam has never been a weakness. What I'm saying is that I would do anything–"

"It's like you said," Dean interrupted. "By this point I'm pretty far off the reservation, right? So maybe you shouldn't underestimate me."

Quiet fell between them, but it was an imperfect quiet, spoiled by the hum of insects and the breeze from outside, as well as the distant murmuring of people's voices. Life was going on.

Dean stroked Cas's hair, still gazing at him forlornly. "If we could kill the Devil, Cas, what would you be prepared to give?"

"Anything," Cas replied, earnestly, looking squarely into Dean's eyes. "I would give my life."

Dean's thumb stroked Cas's cheekbone. "You're sure about that?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, well," Dean said haltingly, turning away from Cas's unflinching certainty and feeling awkward about saying, "That's up to you. I would get it if you changed your mind. I–" Dean's voice broke then, and he looked away. The words "I would never blame you for not going near him," rushed out of Dean on a single breath while he let go of Cas and turned away.

Cas just lay there and watched as Dean moved to sit on the side of the bed, facing away. "This doesn't seem over," Cas murmured. He raised his arm and let the back of his hand rest lightly against Dean's back, wanting to touch him but not knowing how.

Dean didn't reply. He got up from the bed and Cas let his arm fall onto the mattress, watching Dean get dressed, get a bag and stuff a few of his clothes into it.

_He's really going_. There was so much that Cas still intended to say, but he couldn't find the words for any of it.

"Why don't I leave?" Cas offered. "You can stay here."

Dean shook his head. "This is your home, Cas. I want you to have it." He hauled the duffel bag onto his shoulder and looked around the room one final time, as if we was never going to see the place again.

Cas had no idea what to say to that, so just watched, numbly, as Dean looked at the ring he wore on his hand, the ring that Cas got him. Dean looked at the ring thoughtfully for a long time before easing it off his finger and placing it down carefully on the shelf. He didn't look at Cas as he took hold of the door handle and softly said, "I'm still leaving, Cas. And it's going to be the best thing I ever did for you."


	21. All These Things That I've Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue from 5.04 in this chapter. So another disclaimer that I do not own Supernatural, I make no profit from this, and full credit goes to Edlund et al.

Cas felt like he was awake all the time. He barely needed to sleep, didn't seem able, and when he did, the sleep didn't serve to make him feel more rested. He took drugs, and drank a great deal of absinthe to try and recapture his dreams, the ones in which he spoke to Sam – but he never did get to dream about that. Sometimes he dreamed other things. Sometimes his dreams perfectly blended together ancient Egypt and modern day America and he spoke to people who were long dead, who had lived in completely separate periods of history. But mostly his dreams just made no sense and told him nothing of any import.

In his human form, he perceived time differently from the way he used to. In the past, he would scarcely have noticed the passing of six years. Certainly, in the times before the humans had evolved, the Earth passing around the sun six times had been a matter of no more consequence than a second hand ticking by six seconds on a clock – or perhaps that was just the way that Cas had come to remember it due to the amount of time that had passed since then. Those memories were old, faded, abridged, smudged out by the passage of time. Falling from grace had been a definite turning point. He perceived time now in much the same way as a human would, and the six years that he had known Dean seemed like really quite a long time indeed, as did the mere six days since Dean had left.

To distract himself, he went to parties, hosted parties, tried to keep himself ever busy to drown out his thoughts and feelings, as if by constant motion and distraction he could put his depression on pause forever.

Chuck drank a lot, but on his own, and rarely attended parties. They gave him headaches, and he swore that getting headaches made him more liable to have visions and pass out and make a scene, though Cas thought that he was imagining it.

He sat next to Cas on the couch and got drunk, in the day. They were in Cas's cabin – for now it was exclusively his – while other people sat around and talked and listened to music.

Pamela was there – she had been round one evening already and spoken to Cas at length about Sam, and Dean, and Lucifer, and everything. It had been one of those dizzyingly intense conversations that had gone on for a long time, until Cas wasn't sure what was rational anymore. Pamela had stayed over and it seemed to make perfect sense at the time, though virtually none the next morning. It was awkward.

Cas was aware of Dean spending time with Risa. Risa was someone that Dean could talk to, Cas supposed, though in a way that made it worse. If it were purely about sex it would bother Cas a lot less; but the idea that Dean was talking to someone else when he could have just stayed with Cas and talked to him... it made so little sense that Cas found himself getting angry about it. He found himself venting his frustration talking to Chuck, who nodded politely and looked around himself awkwardly.

“Would you like another drink?” Cas asked Chuck.

“No, thanks,” Chuck replied nervously. “I've got a headache coming on. I think... I think I'm gonna see something. I don't know. It's better if I go to sleep and let it come to me in a dream, so I think I'm gonna go.”

“Okay,” Cas replied, hauling himself to his feet. He headed over to the corner with the idea of getting another drink for himself, but then thought of saying goodbye to Chuck, and half turned around to do so, the indecisiveness about what the hell he was trying to do causing him to stumble. Cas fell, but Chuck caught him and set him back on his feet. Cas blinked at him. “Chuck, are you God?”

Chuck looked at him askance. “What?”

“Please don't lie to me,” Cas sighed, deflated.

“Cas, I...” Chuck wasn't sure what to say.

“Forget it,” Cas said dismissively. “Forget it.”

Cas leaned back against the wall. There were too many people.

He opened his eyes and Chuck was gone, and the scene around him was slipping out of focus, the sounds of it were echoing in ways that didn't make sense, and Cas was dimly aware that he had drunk too much. He wanted everyone to leave but couldn't really be bothered to tell them to go.

The song playing in the background appeared to be called  _Wish I Had an Angel_ , but if anyone else in the room noticed the irony of playing it in Cas's presence, they didn't mention it.

Cas hauled himself away from the wall and staggered through into the other room, leaning heavily on the wall, though his hand slipped and he found himself lurching forward and falling to the floor. He blinked and remained where he was, slumped at an awkward angle against the wall with nothing to rest his head on, hurting his neck. Laughter from the other room sliced through the air and Cas flinched. The smell of smoke and stale sweat suddenly became overpowering, the lights too bright, the music too loud.

Cas pushed himself to his knees and crawled to the door, pulling it open and practically throwing himself out of it, hoping that no one saw him leave, praying that no one would come after him.

Last time this had happened Dean had been there. But not this time. Dean was gone and Cas couldn't understand it, to an extent didn't want to understand it, wanting it to be some inexplicable phenomenon that he was powerless against.

He sat outside by himself, quietly, until the sun went down.

* * *

Early the next morning, there was a meeting in Dean's cabin; the first one that Cas had attended since their separation. The nature of their break-up was different this time, and everyone knew it. The assumption seemed to be that this was permanent.

Cas got there at the appointed time, though he had a pounding headache and his mouth was dry and he felt slightly nauseous. As he sat down next to Yaeger he realised that he had a real hangover, and wasn't all that insulated from the effects by being an angel. Perhaps he was still getting more human all the time.

“Cas? Are you listening?”

Cas looked up to see Dean staring at him. “Hmm? Yes. Of course.”

Dean narrowed his eyes and opted not to chastise him further. “As I was saying,” Dean went on brusquely, “we're going out west, to this crossroads. If there's one thing Crowley knows, it's crossroads, and we can ambush the demons there and take the colt. It's not gonna be easy. They're going everywhere flanked by croats these days that they use like mad dogs to set on humans and prevent us from getting close.”

Cas nodded and absorbed this information. This was going to be the mission – they may finally get the colt. After all this time.

“I suppose you're coming?” Dean asked, looking at Cas impassively.

“If I have your permission,” Cas replied dryly.

Dean remained expressionless. “It's a long trip, and we're gonna have to keep quiet. No screwing around, no lapses in concentration. So you'll need to be off the booze and keep it in your pants for a whole twelve hours, Cas, think you can manage that?”

“I can try,” Cas replied, coolly.

Dean glared at him. Cas attempted to glare back but looked at the floor instead. How the hell had they ended up with so much bitterness between them?

“Good,” Dean said simply, calling an end to the meeting. The others present said nothing and averted their eyes from Cas, though as soon as they were out of the room Cas could hear their voices, talking amongst themselves. Gossip, Dean would call it.

Dean himself sat on the other side of the table, so that it acted as a barrier between them. He picked up a map and held it up in front of himself, until Cas couldn't see his face either.

Supposing that the others would be well away by now, Cas got up and left without a word, going back to his cabin.

He slept, or at least, drifted in and out of fatigued unconsciousness, through much of the day. They weren't due to leave until the next morning, and Cas hoped to get himself together by then.

He woke up in the late afternoon and drank some water, returning to the bed to doze for for a while. He pulled the covers over around himself as the weather had suddenly become colder. Dreams came to him, or at least, they were combinations of memories and things he could imagine. He thought about Heaven for a long time, wondering what had become of it, and then he thought about Dean.

All through the last winter, and the one before that, Dean had shared this bed with him, and when it was cold they had curled up under the covers together, sharing warmth and affection. Cas curled up in the covers and reached between his legs and thought of Dean, but he was still unbearably tired and his heart wasn't really in the activity. He rested his hand there and thought back. Some time after he and Dean arrived at Camp Chitaqua, some time after they had developed the habit of sleeping in the same bed every night because there didn't seem to be any point in seeking out a separate bed for one of them, some time after having sex had already become a familiar thing that they did - Dean had asked Cas, once, whether he had ever wanted it at all. Cas hadn't understood what he meant.

Two glasses of whiskey later, Dean had explained, “That night, after Detroit – it just kind of happened. The first time. Was that something you wanted? I mean, if I hadn't... would you ever?”

“Yes,” Cas had replied. “I wanted you before. I want you now. I always will want you. I need you.”

Castiel had, especially in those days, a way of stating quite important things concisely and simply, without their proper grandeur or gravity. It was disarming, especially for Dean, especially then when Cas had said  _I need you_  for the first time. Cas remembered the look on Dean's face, how he hadn't said anything, they had just ended up on the bed tangled up in each other, being close to each other no longer as human and angel, but as two humans, in the imperfect and fascinating ways that humans tried, and sometimes succeeded, to compensate for their eternal separateness, their eternal isolation within their individual corporeal bodies.

Sex, with people he had no such desire to be close to, was a poor replacement. It was an entertaining way to pass the time, and certainly he did enjoy it to some extent, but it ultimately did noting to fill the void; only to distract Cas from it.

Cas cast off the covers and leapt up, resolute. Distractions and diversions weren't good enough. He needed Dean.

The cold evening air as he left the cabin rushed through and messed up his hair, swept over his skin and made it tingle, and Cas felt especially alive, for a moment. It was almost completely dark, and the camp was quiet as he walked through it and over to Dean's cabin. A light was on inside, and Cas prepared himself to knock on the door.

Before he could, however, the door opened and Dean looked out at Cas with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Cas, surprised that Dean happened to open the door just as he arrived, returned, “Where are you going?”

Dean didn't answer, but his eyes flitted to the left, and Cas looked in that direction, seeing the Impala. He was about to say something to Dean, but Dean asked tersely, “What do you want?”

“Are you alone?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Cas licked his lips. “This could be our last night together.”

Dean rolled his eyes and shifted his weight. “Oh, Cas, not the last night on Earth speech – that's awful when I do it and I at least have charm.” Dean just looked annoyed at Cas's obvious insinuation. “So – what? You want me to fuck you one last time for old times sake?”

Cas was a little surprised with just  _how_  dismissive Dean was being, so responded in kind, “I'm sure you actually want me to fuck you, but sure, however you want to phrase it...”

Dean shook his head in exasperation. “I thought it took three or four people to amuse you nowadays?”

Cas longed to make some witty rejoinder, but all he could think was  _Yes. Even four people does not compare to you,_  and that was entirely the wrong tone. Cas was trying to hurt Dean here; he wasn't going to admit that. In the end he just smirked, and answered, “I was going to invite some girls over tomorrow, but I suppose we could do it tonight.”

“I suppose you could.” Dean replied, indifferently.

“And tomorrow I will be busy with this mission. Then again, I haven't planned anything–”

“Exactly how much planning does an orgy  _take_?” Dean snapped, this conversation getting to him a little. “If you're gonna do it, get on and do it.”

“You know...” Cas tried to pretend that Dean's apparent indifference didn't upset him. “You would be welcome to join in. Some fun before we risk our lives tomorrow.”

Dean sighed heavily and let his head drop forward, not looking at Cas, not responding to him at all for a long moment. He stepped back from the door and impatiently beckoned Cas inside, after which he slammed the door shut, giving them privacy.

“Cas, don't come with me on this mission.”

For a moment Cas wasn't sure what he had heard. “Why not?”

“Just don't,” Dean said, through gritted teeth.

“It's my decision,” Cas insisted. “We agreed – you don't get to tell me whether I can go on missions or not–”

“Cas,” Dean interrupted, and it was then that Cas noticed how pained he looked. “Look,” he said slowly. “I'm going to get the colt. And then up against Lucifer. If... if anything were to happen to you–”

“Nothing's going to happen to me.”

“You don't know that!” Dean suddenly grabbed Cas by the front of his shirt and pushed him back against the wall. His eyes blazed into Cas's, and Cas just looked back with confusion, not sure what to make of the sudden intensity of Dean's emotions. Dean went on, “I can't lose you. Not now.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. Dean had already ended their relationship – Cas was already lost. Alive, but lost to Dean. Cas couldn't say that he saw the logic, and Dean quickly became exasperated with Cas's lack of understanding.

“You can't die now,” Dean said directly. “Not  _now_. I can't take that. Don't you get it? I...” Dean took a deep breath and looked away, as Cas began to understand what Dean was saying: going up against Lucifer, against Sam, while grieving Cas's death would be too much for Dean to deal with, if it were to happen. Dean was already at breaking point, or indeed well past it.

“I need you,” Dean forced out, “to do this for me. And I know I got no right to ask, but I need it. I need you to be here when I get back. Please, I'm asking you: just do this one last thing for me.”

A long moment of silence stretched between them before Cas finally nodded. Dean pulled open the door and Cas numbly turned around and walked out of it. Dean closed it behind him, waiting for him to go away, and all at once Cas was alone in the dark.

* * *

Cas barely slept that night. Azaria came round and knocked at the door, but Cas kept silent and ignored her completely. Dean was... wherever he was. Perhaps alone. Probably with Risa. Or maybe Jane. Cas didn't really care. It didn't matter anymore.

Cas could hear them in the morning. Outside there was the murmur of voices and movement, and occasional thuds and bangs of things being moved about. Cas buried his head under the pillow. Why couldn't people have any consideration for his need to sleep?

Then Cas remembered; as far as anyone knew, he was supposed to be going on this mission. And Matt and Yaeger and whomever else may be going would probably be wondering why he wasn't outside helping them to load up.

Wearily, Cas got up, got dressed, and went out of the door, squinting in the bright sunlight. “Morning,” Cas greeted Matt.

Dean just glared at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

Dean rolled his eyes and turned his back, taking a few steps over to pick up a case of ammunition from the ground. Matt and Yaeger both looked at Cas questioningly, and Matt said Cas's name as if to ask what was going on.

“He's not coming,” Dean said gruffly.

The others nodded and said nothing, going about their business.

“If you say so,” Cas said, leaning over the veranda. “Your word is law.”

“Is there a point to this?” Dean snapped.

Cas didn't answer, looking down at his hands. No, he didn't suppose there was a point. He looked back up at Dean, watching his movements closely. Dean seemed very distracted about something – something beyond what had been happening between himself and Cas – but he was doing an excellent job with hiding it, and no one else gave any indication that they shared Cas's suspicions. When Dean looked at him, Cas caught Dean's eyes, as if to say,  _I know_. He knew that something had happened to Dean, something he was not sharing. Dean quickly looked away.

Cas leaned over the veranda and raised his hand to Dean. “Well then, good luck, Captain Ahab.”

Dean scowled at him and turned away, only then realising that, after all this time, that was the first time Cas had called him by a name other than his own to compare him to a fictional character. Even then, Cas had some inscrutable desire for Dean's appraisal of his behaviour, just as he always got when he copied Dean's mannerisms and idioms in his quest to become more human.

The only reply Dean gave was a dismissive, “I don't need luck.”

Cas laughed. “No, right, yeah...” Cas replied sarcastically, “Because this is your sacred special destiny and the world revolves around you.”

Dean threw his guns into the duffle bag on the ground and said, without only a glance at him, “You know what, blow me, Cas.”

Cas kept staring back at him, not even blinking while Dean zipped up his duffle. It was not until Dean looked at him once more that Cas raised his eyebrows and said calmly, “Okay.”

Dean rolled his eyes and turned away, hauling the duffle onto his shoulder and pointedly avoiding the glances of the other men and not acknowledging what Cas had said.

“Ignore him,” Dean ordered them.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Cas countered, addressing Dean. “I'm an angel.”

“No you're not,” Dean said simply. “And I  _have_  listened to you, I said no to Michael, like you said. When it counted, I listened to you, and that's why we're in this mess.”

Cas wanted to retort, but couldn't think of anything, because he supposed that Dean sort of had a point. Dean turned away and left, the other men following after him with wary glances back at Cas. And Cas thought that it was, in many ways, his fault.

* * *

While Dean was gone, Cas carried on much as he had been before, ruminating excessively on his own guilt, as well as what may be going on with Dean. Cas wondered whether someone or something had finally answered one of Dean's prayers - but he couldn't possibly have had an answer from Michael. If he had, there would be no need for the colt. Cas racked his brain and speculated wildly, but he didn't know what else could be going on, and eventually decided to forget it. Perhaps it was some issue between Dean and some other person and was not relevant. Cas tried medicating away his thoughts about Dean and the way things presently were between them as much as he possibly could. He never really could, though. Drugs still didn't fully remove him from reality.

Azaria came round, joined by others later. On some pretence, Cas delayed getting started until it was getting to the time that they were due to expect Dean to come back. 

By then, Cas was sat on the floor with Azaria and three other women, and he knew that Dean would be back at any moment. He did fully intend to go through with this no matter what Dean's reaction was – but it was never truly about them. He reeled off his somewhat rehearsed speech about total shared perception and physical connections, and they all listened attentively. Cas was sure that, in truth, they knew what a load of crap this was, but that didn't matter. That meant that they were just there for the sex, which was certainly no bad thing in Cas's mind.

Cas had evidently stalled enough for Dean to return before they began, and, sure enough, Dean appeared in the doorway. Cas smiled. He hadn't heard the truck pull up, but then again, he had been kind of distracted. “Excuse me, ladies, I think I need to confer with our fearless leader for a moment.” He took a second to wink at Dean before asking them to go get washed up for the orgy.

Cas got up and took a few steps over to the bed, as a kind of non-committal invitation, stretching his back and shoulders.

“What are you, a hippie?”

_Oh really, Dean?_ This _again?_  “I thought you'd gotten over trying to label me,” Cas replied wearily, letting his arms fall to his sides. Clearly, Dean was not in the mood for any of this.

When Cas turned around though, he was instantly aware that something was off. Dean was hesitant, attempting to talk to him; the body language was all wrong. “Woah... strange.”

“What?”

“You... are not you.” Cas turned his head to one side, eyes widened. “Not  _now_  you, anyway.” Dean definitely looked younger and carried himself differently.

“No! Yeah, yes, exactly.” Dean replied, apparently relieved.

“What year are you from?”

“2009.”

“Who did this to you? Was it Zachariah?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting...” Cas thought.  _This_  must be what had unsettled Dean - and 2009 - that was a good few years before any of this – before their relationship had got so tangled up and complicated.

When Dean asked to be returned to his page on the calendar, the reminder that Cas couldn't do that hurt, like a physical tightness in his chest, as he remembered all the things he used to be able to do for Dean, all of which powers were lost to him now, and he had to turn away.

Cas laughed, at the absurdity of the whole thing, the absurdity of himself. He had to explain to  _past Dean_  that he no longer had his powers, and while they spoke Cas couldn't help but stare at Dean with a kind of wonderment; this was Dean before all this, before  _Detroit_ , before Croatoan, before being a leader. The man standing in front of Cas now was the man that Cas loved, and Cas felt as if his world had been turned upside down. How was he supposed to react to this? He was somewhat surprised in his own ability to keep himself together and function so well – but by this point Cas had seen plenty of weird shit in his life.

They were interrupted by the sound of trucks pulling up outside. Dean went out and Cas followed, though he wasn't sure how far he should let Dean stray from the cabin – other people probably shouldn't see him – but there was little chance of stopping Dean before he walked the short distance down to where the trucks had pulled up.

Dean, the present version of him, was out of the truck with the other guys, partaking in a celebratory beer.

But then, out of the blue, Dean turned, drew his gun and shot Yaeger in the head, killing him.

A tense silence followed, in which Cas raised his eyebrows and looked at Dean, assuming that Yaeger had become infected with Croatoan, and that explained it.

The eyes of Matt and the other soldier fell on him more than they did on the past incarnation of Dean who was also standing there.

Dean looked over at him, and his past self, and cursed under his breath. He explained to the others, “Me and him, it's a pretty messed up situation we got going. But when you need to know something you will know it.”

The others were still looking at at Cas, and  _past Dean_  turned to look at Cas too, frowning, trying to untangle what the hell was going on. Cas kept his face neutral – not sure how much past Dean should know.

Dean brusquely told the men to deal with Yaeger, and then he, his past self and Cas walked back up the slope to the cabin. He exchanged a look with Cas, and Cas nodded, returning to his cabin to wait while Dean talked to his past self – who was understandably freaked out about the whole business of seeing himself shoot a man in the head with no explanation.

Azaria came back to the cabin with Sarah, the other two women not sure whether they should return or not. Cas leaned down over the veranda to talk to them.

“Are we to take it that we'll have to take a rain-check on this?” Azaria asked.

“You are,” Cas replied. “This isn't a good time.”

“You're busy with something?”

Cas nodded. “I will be.”

Azaria shook her head. “Well...” she frowned, and Cas wondered how much she knew about what was going on, whether she had any idea they had finally got the colt. No one else was privy to the knowledge that she was an angel, and it hadn't changed much between them, as they were both humans now. It did mean that he trusted her with rather more information than before, but now, with the obfuscating effect that drugs tended to have on his memory he couldn't remember exactly what he'd told her.

She smiled wryly, and urged him, “Look after yourself, Cas.” She turned away, then, and walked with Sarah back to their own cabins.

_Look after yourself_. Cas remained where he was for a moment, struck by the similarity between Azaria's advice and Dean's. Perhaps that had always been why he liked her; she reminded him of Dean, in the first place. Cas chuckled to himself and went back inside.

Dean joined him a moment later, and his mood of excited anxiety seemed to suffuse the atmosphere and rub off on Cas. Dean stood, in silence, with his duffle still on his shoulder, watching Cas carefully, as if trying to work out whether he was sober enough for this conversation. 

Cas began for him. “Am I to take it that you got the colt?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, gruffly, pulling the gun out of his bag.

Cas stepped closer and looked it over – it looked precisely as he remembered it, dull metal, just a gun, Dean's hand securely around it, gripping it tightly.

On some impulse of pure relief, Cas grabbed the front of Dean's jacket and kissed him then, forgetting that they were not together anymore, forgetting everything else that was going on. Dean apparently forgot too, as he kissed back, and when they parted they looked at each other with pure bewilderment.

Dean cleared his throat and looked away. “Right. Listen, you go get Risa, take her to the cabin. Explain the situation to her - and about Marty McFly." Cas narrowed his eyes at  _Marty McFly_  and Dean rolled his eyes. "Just get her. We're gonna talk this over, now.”

Cas did as he was asked, assuming  _Marty McFly_  to be Dean's past self, and this was a pop culture reference. There was little time to reflect on the colt or his kiss with Dean, on how natural and easy it had felt, how when he was kissing Dean he felt alive for the first time in a few days. So he explained  _past Dean_  to Risa. She took it in her stride rather well, and was eager to see the evidence for herself. As they entered the cabin, past Dean greeted her, and she looked between the two. “Wow, so it was  _you_  I saw, earlier?”

“Yep,” past Dean nodded.

She chuckled and shook her head, but Cas could tell from her body language and by the way she pointedly refused to look and the present Dean that she was vexed about something. She leaned back against a post and folded her arms.

Cas had got a drink, and presently sat at the table and put his feet up on it, crossing one leg over the other. He was being driven by the strangest impulse to look a certain way to  _past Dean_ , to present himself as someone who was cool and collected, but not as stiff and awkward as he had been five years previously. He wanted Dean to see him for what he was, but only the best of what he was, insofar as that was possible.

“So that's it,” Risa began. “That's  _the_  colt.”

“If anything can kill Lucifer, this is it,” Dean confirmed.

“Great. Have we got anything that can  _find_  Lucifer?”

Dean looked at her, uncertain as to the meaning of her tone. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, we were in Jane's cabin last night,” Past Dean interjected, helpfully. “And apparently, we and Risa have a  _connection_.”

Cas laughed and took a large sip of the glass of absinthe he had poured for himself.

Dean didn't address that, and went on, “We don't have to find Lucifer, we know where he is. The demon that we caught last week; he was one of the big guy's entourage. He knew.”

“So a demon tells you where Satan's gonna be and you just  _believe_  it?”

“Oh trust me, he wasn't lying.”

“And you know this  _how_?”

Cas explained, “Our fearless leader, I'm afraid, is all too well-schooled in the art of getting to the truth.” Cas looked at the floor after that, unable to put on any front of finding that acceptable, unable to dismiss it with a joke or sarcasm.

Cas looked over at past Dean when he spoke. “Torture? Oh so we're torturing again? We'll that's... that's good...  _classy_.”

Cas chuckled at that – at Dean in the days when he could make a joke out of just about anything. Dean shot him a demanding look, and Cas responded, “What? I like past you.”

Dean seemed a little rattled by this, though he masked it well. He spread out a map on the table. “Lucifer is here, now. I know the block and I know the building.”

“Oh good," Cas sighed, "it's right in the middle of a hot zone.”

“Crawling with croats, yeah. Are you saying my plan is reckless?” Dean challenged.

“Are you saying we – walk in straight up the driveway past all the demons and the croats and we shoot the devil?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Cas went on, rising to the confrontation. “If you don't like, uh, 'reckless' I could use 'insouciant' maybe?”

“Are you coming?” Dean asked, and in that moment Cas fully realised that Dean was completely serious about this, there was no banter on his side of this exchange, nothing hidden in his question. He was simply giving Cas the choice that he had promised.

“Of course.” Cas replied, quickly looking at past Dean to go on to another subject. “But why is he? I mean he's you five years ago, if something happens to him you're gone, right–?”

“He's coming.”

“ _Okay_.” Cas sighed and got up, glancing at Risa. Dean was in no mood to talk to them any further. “We'll uh, we'll get the grunts moving,” he concluded, leaving with Risa.

All Dean said in reply was an order that they were to be on the road by midnight.

“Alrighty!” Cas called back, trying to keep himself together, losing himself in the comforting security of having things to do, and, loath as he was to admit it,  _orders to follow_. This he could do, this made sense, and this helped to keep his fears for what was to come at bay. 


	22. Right Down the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the penultimate chapter, it all ends in the next one. Disclaimer stuff: Credit to Edlund et al once again for lines from 5.04, which were not written by me of course. 
> 
> Right Down the Line is a song by Gerry Rafferty and is one of the greatest songs of all time.

 

Dean had evidently not decided to ask Cas to stay behind on this mission, this final mission. They got their convoy ready, as planned, taking with them all the guns and explosives they could possibly need, along with some holy water and supplies.

Shortly before midnight, Cas walked to the trucks with the past incarnation of Dean – present Dean did not want the distraction of having his clone accompany him for the entire trip, and obviously Cas was the best other person for past Dean to be with.

Past Dean climbed into a truck next to Cas and looked at him with some trepidation. "You can drive, huh?"

"Of course I can drive," Cas replied, starting the engine.

"Who taught you?"

Cas smiled. "You did. Or you  _will,_  I suppose."

"Did I teach you in the Impala?"

Cas laughed. "No! I only ever drove the Impala twice, once in the middle of an airfield so I couldn't possibly hit anything, and then once while you were under the effects of a spell so we had no choice. Both times you were very much opposed to the idea and gave me a stream of instructions and constantly offered to take over."

"Ha," Dean chuckled. "Well at least some things don't change."

"Hmm," Cas put the car in gear and pulled away, following the car ahead. "This was despite the fact that I  _could_  drive perfectly well. I can drive. It's not difficult."

They talked a while about cars and driving while they got out onto the road, and Cas wondered as to what Dean had said to this past version of himself. He wondered whether Dean had urged his past self to pray to Michael, urged him to say 'yes'.

Probably.

Cas took a deep breath and took out a bottle of pills. Dean, past Dean, asked to see the pills, so Cas offered him some.

"Amphetamines?"

"It's the perfect antidote to that absinthe," Cas explained blithely.

Dean seemed unsettled by this. "Don't get me wrong, Cas, I'm happy that the stick is out of your ass, but... what's going on? With the drugs and the orgies and the love-guru crap...?"

Cas laughed – this Dean didn't know him at all, could probably hardly  _recognise_  him – compared to what he used to be like when he had been an angel. Dean asked him what was funny.

"Dean, I'm not an angel anymore."

"What?"

"Yeah, I went mortal." _  
_

"What do you mean? How?"

"I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving, but um, when they bailed my mojo just kinda – drained away... And now, you know, practically human." And indeed frustratingly and  _impractically_. Cas gave an example, "I mean Dean I'm all but useless; last year, broke my foot, laid up for two months."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"So you're human." Cas nodded. He supposed he was, and he might soon get to find out just how mortal he was, too. Dean added, "Well welcome to the club."

"Thanks," Cas replied, trying to keep out the sarcasm, but his frustration boiled its way to the surface and bubbled out of him. "Except I used to belong to a much better club. And I'm now powerless. I'm hapless, I'm hopeless - I mean why the hell  _not_  bury myself in women and decadence? Right? It's the end, baby; that's what decadence is  _for_. Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out? But then, that's just how I roll."

_Dean's banging a few gongs too,_ Cas thought to himself wryly, _if by gongs you mean women, one last hoorah for his fragile concept of 'masculinity'_. Cas smiled and very nearly spoke his thoughts aloud, but chose not to, driving in silence. Dean, in the present, hated to hear Cas talk like this, as if it personally offended him. But now Cas had the chance to vent his frustration and say and be as sarcastic and nihilistic as he wanted. 

"So we're going to Kansas City," Dean said eventually, to break the silence. "That's where I woke up here. I mean, I went to sleep there in 2009 and woke up there in 2014."

"Kansas City..." Cas said, thoughtfully. "I remember."

"You do?"

"Of course. You needed to sleep. I waited. I remember."

"Yeah?" Dean enquired. "What did you do?"

Cas shrugged. "Stayed where I was. Conserved power. When your four hours had elapsed I flew to where you were. You were asleep, and when you woke up to see me standing there you swore and almost fell off the bed."

Dean laughed. "Wait, so where were you?"

"At the side of a road."

"You stood by the side of the road for four hours and did nothing?"

"Yeah."

Dean laughed again. "Oh man. Only you, Cas."

Cas smiled to himself. "That was when we first started looking for the colt together."

Dean took a deep breath and nodded. "And now you found it."

"Yep," Cas replied, brightly. "We found it. We should've had a parade."

Dean could clearly sense the sarcasm and bitterness that Cas's voice was laced with, so he was silent for a moment, before, "Back in my time, you said that finding the colt to kill the devil was  _insane_."

"It is," Cas chuckled. "It is."

"You seem..." Dean hesitated. "You and, uh, me. Future me. Uh, what, exactly...?"

Cas laughed again, but didn't say anything. His Dean had asked that their relationship not be discussed with  _past Dean_ , but past Dean clearly had at least some clue as to what was going on, despite not having personally seen it. Perhaps he wondered why the  _fearless leader_  of the camp didn't have his own truly inhabitable cabin while Cas did, perhaps he wondered what the "messed up situation" was. Come to think of it, Dean was far too perceptive for this to possibly have got by him unnoticed. Cas decided to explain that, at the heart of the matter, "The only thing that I think we have left, Dean and me, is each other. If Dean says that it's time to go out in a blaze of glory, win or lose, so be it, I'm in."

Dean's discomfort with Cas's words was palpable. Dean clearly wanted to ask more questions, but couldn't bring himself to do it. This was  _2009 Dean_ ; Dean still in denial about his sexuality, Dean unsure about how he felt about Cas. Or maybe, in 2009 Dean didn't have those feelings yet, Cas couldn't be sure.

As far as he remembered, despite being fallen in a sense, Castiel had still been very much an angel in 2009. He gave sex very little thought, and perceived his preoccupation with Dean as being something entirely spiritual, emotional, based in what they had been through together. And it  _was_  all those things, but it was all those things  _and more_. There was something else, something uniquely human burning in Cas that he hadn't quite figured out back in 2009. It was the irresistible desire to just be in Dean's presence, to be close to him, though Cas couldn't figure out  _how_  he wanted to fulfil that desire.

Nothing he did satisfied the need or made it go away – if anything, it just got worse. Lust, Cas had heard it said, was like the craving for salt of a man dying of thirst – which described Cas's feelings perfectly even though he would never have defined them as  _lust_  at the time.

He had watched Dean sleep several times, which had been a lot creepier back when he hadn't needed sleep himself, though Cas hadn't understood why it was creepy at the time. He didn't realise that it was sexual, though he knew it was physical. Despite having seen countless humans before and being abundantly familiar with Dean already down to the molecular level, Cas was endlessly fascinated with watching Dean. He wanted to watch the way Dean's chest rose and fell, the way his eyes moved behind closed lids, all the other little movements and expressions he made while he was dreaming. He remembered going to him in Kansas City, seeing Dean lying on his stomach, asleep. And for a few moments Cas's gaze had swept the length of his body, down his back and over his ass, calculating the equation for the precise curve of it, as if the numbers would provide him with explanations for what he was feeling.

Dean didn't let Cas watch over him, of course, and Cas (usually) respected that. Cas remembered how, whenever he and Dean had been together, Cas had stood so close to him and peered at him so intently, and he chuckled to himself.

"Something funny?" Dean asked.

"Oh," Cas sighed, "just remembering how you and me used to be."

Cas got the impression that Dean was thinking about this a great deal. Though he was surely also thinking about Sam, and Cas wasn't sure how to even begin to broach that subject. Dean clearly wanted his past self to see what had happened to Sam, to provide a truly terrifying warning of what was to come. Cas thought about Dean going back to 2009 and immediately praying to Michael to say 'yes' - though he somehow thought it unlikely that 2009 Dean would do that, even if he saw Sam as Lucifer, even if he saw Sam die. Dean would do just about anything else first. Perhaps this glimpse of the future would only increase his determination, only make him all the more creative at finding another solution, another way to protect Sam. In that case, Zachariah would not be happy... 

The two of them didn't speak all that much more, as Cas drove them closer and closer towards their final destination of Kansas City. Thoughts swirled and circled in his head about Dean, Sam, Lucifer, the angels, and just about everything else. He thought about everything that Dean had been through, all they had faced, all they years they had fought together, sometimes fought each other, but always come back to each other in the end.

* * *

When they pulled up on the outskirts of the Kansas City, outside the perimeter of the hot zone, the first thing Cas decided to do was to talk to Dean. The idea came upon him suddenly, but as soon as he had thought of it he could think of nothing else. Past Dean seemed to be aware of this, though he did not say anything. Cas left him in the truck as the first light of dawn began to approach, telling him to wait there.

He then immediately sought Dean out from amongst the others. "Dean, I have to speak to you."

Dean looked vexed by this. "Right now?"

"It's important. Dean, please, one minute."

"Fine," Dean replied gruffly. He left the others unloading the trucks and led Cas away, taking him around the corner of a long-abandoned house.

"So," Dean asked. "How has the, uh, other me been?"

"Fine."

"You didn't try to screw him, did you?"

Cas laughed. "And wait out his gay panic? No, Dean, I found that very boring the first time round."

Dean hit him playfully on the arm and shook his head. "You're... boring."

An uncomfortable silence elapsed in which neither of them was sure of where to look, or indeed where they stood with each other.

Cas was the one to break it. "Dean, I have to know. I have to understand – why did you leave?"

Dean sighed and looked up at the night sky, which was slowly lightening. "I told you, it's best for you."

"Do I get a say in what's best for me?" Cas demanded.

"Cas." Dean stared at him hard, but his look quickly broke, and emotions of sadness and were suddenly written all across his face. "God dammit, you would've understood. You don't need me, not like I need you." Cas tried to interrupt, but Dean went on, "You think you need me now, but you would've got over it, without me..."

"If you died?" Cas asked. "You think if you died I would get over it?"

"Eventually, yeah," Dean confirmed. "And like I said, maybe you can be an angel again – and even if you can't, you've still got a life to live, and you can damn well live it without me. I mean, you're an angel, and I'm..." He sighed. "Why would you ever...?" Dean looked away and shook his head, not finishing his question, which felt like a heavy weight on Cas's chest.

Cas hazarded an end to Dean's question, "Why would I ever love you? Is that what you're asking me?"

Dean raised his head and took a deep breath, but still didn't look at him or reply.

"Dean." Cas stepped closer, and Dean stepped back.

"Cas, don't. I can't..."

Without another word Cas grabbed Dean by the arm and pulled him into a hug. Dean resisted, his breath coming in shallow, urgent, gasps – until he finally gave in and wrapped his arms tight around Cas's body and pressed his face to Cas's hair.

"Cas, I can't do this right now."

"There is no other time," Cas replied, which drew something between a laugh and a sob from Dean.

"Dammit," Dean mumbled. "I wish you had left, sometimes, like you always used to. So that you were far away from this, so you weren't going up against Lucifer."

"Dean..." Cas drew back so they could see each other. "Let me do this."

"No," Dean said immediately. "I need to do this for myself. For Sam. And I need you to understand that. If I can't even save my own brother now..." Dean stopped and shook his head, in despair with himself.

"Dean, listen to me," Cas cupped Dean's jaw and held him firmly in place. "I have seen you at your worst." Cas kept hold of Dean even when he tried to turn away, eyes closed in disgust with himself, and Cas went on, "I have seen you torture demons. I have seen you kill people. I have seen you torture souls in Hell."

"Cas–"

"Innocent souls," Cas clarified.

"Cas please–"

Cas only leaned in closer, held him tighter. "And  _I understand_."

Dean opened his eyes wide and met Cas's gaze. Dean looked terrified by all this, like there was nothing about this conversation that he could cope with.

Cas concluded, "And I still love you."

Dean broke away from him then and turned away, covering his face with his hands. "Cas please, stop..."

"Did you ever doubt that?" Cas asked. "I know... the things I've said to you - truly awful and inexcusable things at times, when I discovered the power of words. The times I wished that you had listened to me, the things I wished you'd done differently... Dean. I apologise for it all and none of it means that I love you any less. Do you understand?"

"No," Dean replied, in a small voice. "Cas, don't say this stuff to me right now, not now, I can't..."

Cas was quiet for several minutes. The dawn chorus was beginning, but he could scarcely hear it over the pounding of his own heart, the blood rushing in his ears, his own rapid and laboured breathing – which it took him some time to realise was happening because he was fighting off tears.

Cas struggled to open his lungs to suck in a deep breath, hoping that the air would steady him. "Dean. Tell me why you thought it would be best for me for you to go."

Dean sighed. "Cas... I wanted... I wanted you to have a choice. I didn't want you to blindly follow me. You're worth so much more than that, you know?"

Cas shrugged, and Dean laughed. "What is this?" Dean asked, " _Team Low Self-Esteem_? Jeez..."

Cas smiled. "Do you wish I hadn't come on this mission, in that case?"

Dean shook his head. "I wanted you to have a choice," he repeated.

"You didn't need me to come," Cas posited. "You didn't need me anymore."

"Yes, I did. I do." Dean ran his hand over his jaw. "I did need you; to help me make decisions, to be at my side when I did things, for you to just  _be there_. And if you weren't there... Do you get it?" Dean's voice broke on a laugh-sob. "I need you  _too damn much_. I knew it was all going to come down to me, and I couldn't drag you down with me, drag you to Lucifer." He sighed and then clenched his jaw and gestured pointedly. "Dammit Cas, I did not leave you. I let you go." Dean cupped the side of Cas's face and Cas just looked back at him, floored by all this. 

"You didn't drag me anywhere," Cas replied, "and since my rebellion against Heaven I will never  _blindly follow_  anything or anyone again. Not even you. I chose to come."

Dean shook his head. "I really want to call you a stupid son-of-a-bitch for that."

"Go ahead," Cas replied. "It doesn't change anything. I wouldn't change anything."

Dean's fingers tangled in the back of Cas's hair, and held his gaze, a thousand questions behind his eyes, all of them impossible to put into words. Cas knew Dean well enough to know what he needed to hear, and if ever there was a time for Cas to state his emotions plainly, this was it. "I need you too, Dean. And I don't wish that you were him," Cas gestured vaguely behind himself to refer to  _past Dean_. "I don't. Because... everything that you and I have been through together – it's  _you_  that's been there with me, looked out for me, cared for me. You helped me to become a hunter after I fell so I didn't feel useless and we fought side by side, you played me music and showed me movies to bring me into your world so that we could better understand each other, and when I was sick you got me pillows and made me toast." Dean laughed and a few tears escaped him. Cas smiled weakly, concluding, "All those small things over all those short days, they built something larger than the sum of its parts. We're a team, you and I. We rely on each other. And that's what whatever we have between us is made of."

Dean swallowed hard and ventured, in a fragile voice, "Love, I guess."

Cas nodded. "I don't think that word is adequate, but, yes."

Dean chuckled and moved closer. "Cas..." Dean's green eyes were shining a little with tears in the slowly increasing light of the dawn. It suddenly struck Cas that this was probably the last time he was going to see Dean like this, and that in itself broke his heart. Dean took a deep breath and blinked back the tears. "I don't know what to say; you know I'm no good at these chick-flick moments."

"I know," Cas smiled. "I know."

"You're right," he said grimly. "We should have stayed together through this. We would have been stronger for it. I was trying to give you a chance to get out." Dean took a deep breath and put his other hand on Cas's shoulder. "Because I thought it could be the one last good thing I could do. One last selfless thing. Because - for everything you are, angel, human, and everything that's happened - I love you too."

Cas didn't say anything more, but stepped into Dean's arms and embraced him. He couldn't say he fully understood how it was that Dean loved him, but that didn't matter to him much in that moment. All there was was the two of them, warm and securely together in the cool morning air, an irregular breeze picking up and tugging at their clothes. 

Dean held him and pressed his face to Cas's hair, rambling against his skin. "You were always there. I always expected you to leave – and sometimes you did – but you always came back. And then you stayed. Day after day, night after night, you just  _stayed_ , Cas. Do you... Do you have any idea what that means...?"

Cas nodded. "I would always want to stay."

Dean rested his forehead against Cas's. "I tried to get you to leave – but I didn't try that hard, 'cause I knew you just weren't going to. No matter how bad things got, you would stay. It had to be me that left you."

"You didn't have to leave at all."

A long time passed before Dean answered. "I know. But I thought I needed to cut myself off from you, from everything. I thought if I didn't need you anymore, I'd be stronger. Because I wasn't strong enough, and I'm still not. I know this is something I have to do, but I'm not..."

"You are," Cas assured him, looking deeply into his eyes. "You can do this. You say you can and I believe you, I have faith in you. We can do this. Together. You know I'll do whatever it takes, whatever you need."

"I know," Dean said softly, nodding, casting his eyes to the ground. "And I know this is it; one way or another. The end."


	23. Sleeping Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Disclaimer about a little bit of 5.04 dialogue which is not mine, credit to the makers of Supernatural.

 

After their exchange away from the rest of their group, it took a while for Dean and Cas to regain their composure. They had a few last embraces, a few final kisses, and then broke apart for good – in a different sense from what Dean had tried to do a week before. They weren't in physical contact anymore, but they were still together, secure in a renewed mutual understanding. They walked back to the others side by side, Dean surreptitiously squeezing Cas's hand just once before letting go.

Every member of their fireteam grabbed their stuff, taking all the guns and ammunition they could carry to protect themselves, and embarked on their final journey through the Kansas City hotzone to the building where they would have to face the devil. Doubts about the colt had to be pushed quite firmly to the back of Cas's mind, though he had to confess, at least to himself, that he still had his doubts as to its efficacy. 

From the second they passed through the perimeter fence of the city, they were consumed by the immediate concern of self-preservation, and could focus on nothing but staying on the lookout for croats and demons. Dean was stony faced, his emotions utterly closed off. Cas was soon the same way; focused on the task. He and Dean had said all they were going to say for now; and it would be suicide to get distracted by emotions in the middle of this mission.

Kansas City was a wasteland, and for the first time Cas saw the reality of what the military had done to the place, the obvious fire damage, the blown out windows, the overturned cars. The city was a hell of a lot more the worse for wear than the last time he saw it.

The city was also eerily quiet, suspiciously deserted. Past Dean mentioned that he had been chased by croats there not three days ago, but wherever they were, they were gone now and were not coming after them. Cas credited Risa and Matt with more than enough intelligence to realise that this was too easy, that they were probably walking straight into a trap here.

It wasn't long before they reached the block that Dean had pointed out, approaching the abandoned hospital where Lucifer apparently resided. They crouched behind an overturned car and Dean pointed out the second floor window they were to go to. He passed the binoculars back to Cas, who hesitated with them, wondering he actually needed to use them to see that far, and listening to the conversation as Risa asked, "You sure about this?"

"They'll never see us coming," Dean confirmed.

Cas looked at Risa, wondering how much she realised about the true nature of this plan, and she quickly looked back at him, to see whether or not Cas supported it. Cas kept his face neutral as Dean told them to check their weapons. Risa still looked doubtful.

Past Dean was watching them all closely, too. "Hey, uh, me," he called over. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Dean nodded and went with him. Cas realised that past Dean surely knew precisely what was going on. Of course he did. Did Dean credit his past self with far less intelligence than he had? Or perhaps Dean had been anticipating questions from his past self all along, and was prepared for explaining the matter.

Risa kept trying to catch Cas's eyes to press questions – so Cas spoke, about weapons, about things they already knew and nothing that truly needed to be said. He made sure everyone was clear on what they were doing, that they were armed to the teeth, and ready to depart when Dean came back.

Dean returned shortly – alone.

Risa looked at him curiously. "Where's the, uh, other Dean?"

"He's not coming. He'll wait it out here."

Risa nodded, glancing at Cas again, with the same dubious look as before, searching for assurance. Cas nodded to her, tightened his grip on his gun, and stood up, ready to go. They didn't have time to dispute Dean's decisions right now.

The sky above was dark, and the hospital grounds apparently deserted. Autumn leaves littered the ground and the air was conspicuously chilly, as well as charged with a kind of static strange for the time of day, warning them that a storm was imminent.

Cas closed his eyes for a moment and tried to open his mind up, expand it beyond the confines of his skull, and register more information through senses that he did not have names for, but nothing intelligible was coming to him. He opened his eyes and stared straight ahead, stunned.

Dean shot him a questioning look. Cas explained, "I don't know whether there are demons and croats here. It's possible that they're using magic to block themselves from me, or..."  _or I'm not enough of an angel to sense them anymore_  went unsaid.

Dean understood and nodded, glossing over it. "Hey," Dean reached into his jacket pocket and handed the demon-killing knife to Cas. Cas took it, and Dean's hand lingered against his own. "Look after yourself."

Risa interjected, "Don't you need it?"

"Don't worry about me. We know that knife can't kill an angel - and I've got the gun. Okay." He breathed sharply and deeply, making to go. "Let's go."

"Dean." Cas couldn't stop himself - he held Dean's forearm, and Dean met Cas's eyes. Dean could not mask his own guilt and fear, though Cas tried to silently assure him through a look that it was understood. This moment of silent communication harked back to their private conversation of a few hours ago, and somehow in Cas's look he managed to say  _I love you_  without saying it aloud.  _Even though I know you're sending me into something I might not survive,_  Cas thought, with a sad smile,  _I love you, I understand, I forgive you_. "You can do it," Cas added, unsure as to how to address the elephant in the room that it was his  _brother_  than Dean was going to face. Killing Sam was the one red line that Dean had never been able to cross, but perhaps these were the only possible circumstances in which he could do it; to provide Sam with an escape.

"Thanks Cas," Dean's voice was constricted by anxiety, as he nodded curtly, but Cas could see in his Dean's eyes that he understood and reciprocated everything that Cas was thinking.

"Okay," Dean said steadily, determinedly, meaning it this time. "Cas, you take the lead. Go in through the front. We'll get up to the second floor. It won't be easy to get to Lucifer; just shoot everyone and everything that comes at you. We've got a hell of a lot of ammo, and most likely we'll need it all. Any questions?"

They all shook they heads.

"Go." Dean ordered, definitively. "I'll be right behind you."

Cas nodded, turned away and started walking.

His legs felt like lead, nothing around him was entirely real anymore; he walked through the autumn garden of the abandoned hospital as if in a dream. He longed to turn back, conscious of the fact that a few seconds ago had probably been the last time he was ever going to see Dean, and panicked about this; he would never see Dean smile again, never see him laugh, never kiss him again – this couldn't be over, not after all this time, it couldn't be over like this.

But Cas did not turn back, and he did not look over his shoulder.

He already knew that Dean would not be there, that Dean was not following. It was vital that Cas looked ahead, looked out for croats and for demons, was ready to kill them and defend himself and the others. That was all that mattered now. Their role was to create a diversion, and a diversion, they would create.

They were already at the front door when it started. The door burst open and a hoard of croats ran out, screaming, a wall of movement and sound, an echoing counterpart roaring up from behind them, penning them in. And Cas hadn't banked on being surrounded immediately, but he was ready, nonetheless, and opened fire. The croats were still humans, and could still be killed like humans, and fell to the ground dead like humans in the wake of the fusillade of bullets fired at them.

As soon as a path was clear he ran into the building, into a building he didn't believe that he would ever escape.

Cas got separated from the others in the confusion, running down a hall with croats chasing him while Risa and Matt made it up the stairs, still trying to get to the second floor, as if there was anything on the second floor.

_Height gives them a defensible position_ , it occurred to him. Perhaps Dean's idea was that the croats and demons would keep coming at them until they were all killed, and after that perhaps Risa and Matt could make their escape. There wasn't much chance of that, but they were not utterly without hope.

To split the croats up, so that they didn't all make for the upstairs, Cas made no effort to rejoin the others. He made a circuit of the ground floor of the building, letting them chase him, killing as many as he could, despatching a few demons with the knife too. The weight of the lives he was taking piled up on his mind, the seriousness of what he was doing to these people – but there was no other option, he was helping to protect the others, and some other part of Castiel relished the fight. He was a soldier after all, and this was something he could do with expert precision, the rhythm and the clarity of it invigorating and calming all at once, bringing him the inner peace and the sense of purpose afforded him by battle.

The sound was terrible, an all consuming migraine of a sound, an interminable ringing in Cas's ears in response to the constant, deafening rattle of gunfire. Somehow, in all this, in all the smoke and struggle and noise and confusion, Cas experienced a moment of clarity. Time seemed to slow, his head seemed to clear. He searched within himself for angel radio, not turning it on, per se, but leaning on the switch, which put up surprising resistance – and hell, maybe Cas  _couldn't_  turn it back on anymore – but what he had still gave him a knowledge of where Lucifer was. The devil was close. Even though Cas couldn't pinpoint the location, didn't have co-ordinates, he was  _aware_  of Lucifer.

Lucifer was like an icy coldness behind his eyes and in his bones, a cloying magnetic pull, a crackling storm. And something else within Lucifer, the corruption of Hell, perhaps, was still strong enough to warp reality and the spiritual world, Lucifer was a force that he could still sense; an emptiness, a blackness, a vacuum, and nature abhorred him.

But before Cas could get anywhere, he had to get past all the croats. He eventually cleared several of them and made it into a hallway, closing the door behind him, just glimpsing between door and frame a new group rounding a corner, leaping up and sprinting towards him as he locked the door on them.

The sound of footsteps behind him made Cas turn and face that threat, seeing a group of croats round the corner ahead of him, several of them carrying guns of their own. They turned to him, and there was a moment of eerie calm between their seeing him and making for him, in which Cas opened fire to defend himself.

The door behind him groaned, and the croats ahead began to fire back at him – and Cas knew instantly that there was no way for him to escape from this part of the building fast enough. He was surrounded and they were coming for him no matter what. They outnumbered him, and their barrage of sound and steel thundered towards him in a terrible wave, rushing at him to pull him under.

Pain exploded in Cas's side and it felt as if it was the soundwave of the gunfire that knocked him to the floor. He pushed himself onto his back, but the agony was overpowering, his vision faded out and everything skipped by a second. He could not sit up, so he lay on the floor, shocked and trying to make sense of his bewildered thoughts through the haze of pain, wondering whether he was dying, wondering whether he was perhaps already dead.

All of this happened amongst a crescendo of lightning, and the door behind him crashed open. There was a great commotion of shouting in that direction, but it died away. All Cas could see was the ceiling above him, and he did not seem to be able to move, the very concept of moving seemed as much of an impossibility as flying. Breathing hurt, everything hurt, time was constricted down, wrapped up tightly by inconceivable agony.

It was then did the realisation hit Cas that he was definitely dying, that the blood loss alone from where had been shot would probably kill him, but in addition to that the bullet – no,  _bullets_ , plural – had torn through a few of his vital organs on their way. A few shots of whiskey and an ace-bandage were not going to get him over this, not this time.

Reality was fading out at the edges already, a darkness encroaching around the edges of his vision which could not be blinked away. Cas's eyelids felt heavy, his whole body felt heavy, like he was encased in lead, like he needed to go to sleep for years.

Footsteps approached, only one set of calm, steady footsteps along the floor of the corridor, coming towards him. "Dean," Cas mumbled, forcing his eyes open, knowing that Dean was out there somewhere, Cas had to help him–

"Hello Clarence," Meg's voice reached Cas and as he blearily turned to her he saw her crouching next to him, both her demonic face and her appropriated one, and some delirious part of him wondered about her, and cared as to what was to become of her.

What happened next was unclear. Time took on a non-linear quality and dilated bewilderingly. Cas knew that probably less than a second had passed, but it seemed like a very slow process by which he found himself standing in that same hallway. He could see, but did not know what he was looking at, or from where he was looking. All at once he was looking down at himself, up, and around in all directions. He blinked at the world snapped back into focus, and then he seemed to have a consistent and comprehensible viewpoint, a little less than six feet off the floor.

Cas could see the fragile human body that he had appropriated and inhabited was now lying crumpled on the floor, a vast quantity of blood surrounding it. It looked small, Castiel thought. Very small, and utterly lifeless. He then looked down at himself, or what he supposed to be  _himself_  now, realising that he looked the same as that body, only intact. He had lived his human life in that form, and his human soul, if that was what he truly had, had been formed in that mould, filled it out and taken its shape.

Meg got up and walked back towards the croats. It was unclear whether they could see him. His body was no use to him any longer, and Cas turned to leave the room, to try and get to the back of the hospital to at least see what was happening to Dean – but before Cas could go anywhere he saw a reaper standing next to him. "Hello Castiel," the man said calmly; an old, smart man with grey hair and black suit. "It's time that you were on your way."

"Where am I going?" Cas asked dumbly. All the humans asked that, even the ones who knew the reapers couldn't answer. Cas shook his head as if to dismiss the question, and the reaper smiled benevolently.

Cas turned away, making for the back of the building. "I will go with you," Cas told the reaper. "I just have to see Dean."

"Castiel," the reaper warned him. "This is how ghosts are born; there will always be  _just one more_  thing that you must do."

On reaching the wall Cas hesitated, before passing through it, and the reaper followed.

"I will see what happens to Dean here, and then I'll go, that I promise you," Cas said, though he didn't look back at the reaper as he did.

It was only a moment then before Cas found his way into a room with shattered windows, looking out onto an overgrown garden. Lucifer came into view, and so did Dean.

Cas's non corporeal form would not be visible to Dean, and Lucifer had his back turned. Lucifer did know Cas was there, somehow Cas knew this, and he sensed that Lucifer was  _amused_  by it.

As Dean spoke to Lucifer Cas watched, standing before the window with its panes missing, and he could hear what was happening outside. He heard Dean's voice, "...only need to talk to Sam once, for a minute."

_No, Dean, no,_  Cas despaired.

Lucifer chuckled. "Why? And don't think you can talk me into it, Dean, please. You know you can't appeal to my sympathies – or you don't think so, anyway, because that's not what you think of me. You don't give me that credit. Dean," Lucifer sighed, "I wish it didn't have to be this way between us. But you have to know, you can't goad me into letting Sam take back the reigns – because that's impossible now. Didn't Cas tell you?"

"He did," Dean confirmed, raising the gun and pointing it at Lucifer. "So I'll keep this simple. You got a straight choice: get out of Sam and let me talk to him, or I'll kill you–"

Dean was interrupted by a blithe wave of Lucifer's hand, which sent him sprawling to the ground. Dean lay on the ground, still clutching the colt and pointing it defiantly at Lucifer. Lucifer smiled, and there was something approaching sympathy in it, though it was closer to pity.

"I'll do it," Dean shouted. "For what you did to my little brother, I'll kill you!"

"Dean..." Lucifer replied consolingly. "You'll only be hurting Sam again. He's right here," he raised a hand to his temple, "with me. He can see you now, you know. Pointing that gun at him."

Dean grimaced and tightened his grip on the gun. Lucifer clearly didn't believe that Dean could do it – but Cas found that he somehow did, while he watched in rapt attention from the window, gunfire audible somewhere behind him, not moving his gaze from Dean and Lucifer.

Lucifer remained where he was, looking down at Dean with not the slightest fear. "Go ahead," Lucifer smiled politely. "Kill your brother."

The shot rang out.

Dean fired and Lucifer's–  _Sam's_  body slumped forward, head snapping back with the force of the bullet that hit him between the eyes, but still he fell forward, falling onto Dean.

Cas just stared, watching in shock as Dean dropped the gun and, shaking, wrapped his arms around Sam's lifeless body, sitting up, holding Sam in his arms.

Lighting crashed violently above as Dean held Sam's. "Sam... I'm so sorry, Sammy..." Cas just about managed to make out Dean's words, purely from reading his lips. Dean cradled Sam's head in one hand and pressed his face to Sam's hair, despite the blood, rocking back and forth slightly. He was crying, Cas could see that even from this distance, but he had done it.

Cas looked on, not sure how to process this. Five years of fighting Lucifer's forces, five years of tracking down the colt, and this was the culmination of all that effort.

It was over.

"Dean!" Cas called out to him, forgetting that Dean would not be able to hear him. Dean had killed Lucifer but had to kill Sam to do it, and doubtless he was struggling to cope with the magnitude of that.

Sam's body moved, and Dean panicked as he watched this form rise to his feet again – but it was not Sam at all – it was Lucifer wearing Sam's body, which he easily healed and cleaned of blood, and all evidence that the injury had ever happened had vanished.

The colt didn't kill him.

Dean recoiled in horror, not moving from his place on the ground, staring up at Lucifer.

"I'm shocked," Lucifer said honestly – and somehow Cas could tell that this was  _purely_  Lucifer now – Sam being totally gone, the bullet passing through his brain having killed him, freeing his soul from its prison.

He even saw Sam's soul standing there next to a reaper of his own. Sam turned, saw Cas, eyes widening–

"Castiel," the reaper demanded Cas's attention, coming to stand in front of him. "There is noting you can do. This is not your realm any longer."

"Shut up," Cas growled, looking back outside, as he had to know what was going on – but when he did, he saw Lucifer standing over Dean, his foot pressing down on Dean's neck. It broke with a snap, and the sound tore through Cas like a multitude of bullets all over again. Lucifer turned quickly to Sam, and the reaper said something to Sam, urged him to go – and Sam had to go, he knew.

The picture became quite bewildering as the past incarnation of Dean appeared and Lucifer turned to him instead. This bought Sam at least a vital few seconds to see his brother's soul appear in the veil. They went to embrace each other, but that proved impossible. Sam and Sam's reaper glanced back at Lucifer, and Sam nodded, and went with the reaper, quickly, so that Lucifer could never interact with him any further.

Dean was speaking to his reaper then, a woman with short dark hair. The past incarnation of Dean and Lucifer were both gone now. Dean suddenly cast his eyes on Cas and strode towards him with determination.

Cas's reaper stood close next to him, and Dean seemed to understand that they were both dead – and Castiel saw him slow and a look of horror came over his face at this realisation.

Dean reached the other side of the window and said only one thing to him, "Will we all be together?"

Cas hesitated. He wasn't sure what the nature of Heaven would be at all, let alone how it would be for the three of them, specifically. "We'll figure it out, Dean. If I have to, I will make it my mission to find my way back to you."

A memory rushed back to Cas: the night several months ago, with Dean, in the cabin, when they had established that Cas had a soul.

_"Your soul... what'll happen to it?"_

_"Presumably, the same thing that happens to all human souls," Cas speculated. "Heaven or Hell."_

_... "You'd go to Heaven, Cas," Dean said confidently, planting a kiss on Cas's forehead. "You're on the good side of things. You'll go to Heaven."_

Presently Dean looked at him through the glass, the reaper at his side telling him that he must go.

Cas reached through one of the broken panes of glass, though he knew that he and Dean could not touch each other, the desire to do was something that transcended the physical. He told Dean, "You freed Sam. You'll be able to find him in Heaven. This is all over for us."

A few tears ran down Dean's cheeks and he nodded in resignation. He took a deep breath, even though he didn't actually need to breathe. "Sucks for the rest of the world, though."

Cas smiled wanly and nodded, and something passed between them. If free will was a roll of the dice, then this was probably the worst result they could have gotten, hope residing instead in the reality that the 2009 version of Dean had been returned to. Though Dean was no longer corporeal, he too reached through the broken pane, softly saying Cas's name. Cas could not feel Dean's hand, experiencing only a vague sense that it was there, a certain coolness. He wondered whether he still felt warm to Dean.

Cas then looked back up at Dean's face, and they both understood precisely what was happening, that this was the end for both of them. Cas's reaper repeated his assertion that Cas must leave, and leave immediately, and as he did so one other memory came back to Cas, another conversation with Dean.

" _If we could kill the Devil, Cas, what would you be prepared to give?"_

" _Anything," Cas replied, earnestly, looking squarely into Dean's eyes. "I would give my life."_

This mission had proved to be the death of Castiel. But Dean believed that he was doing so to kill the Devil, and he believed that Cas was going to Heaven.

Dean glanced at his reaper and slowly reached his hand out to her. Cas nodded and did the same thing. Even that action was half of the decision; his soul could not properly exist on this material plane and was more than ready to depart it. It was suddenly difficult to see anything that was physically there, it was as if the lights were dimmed and the curtains were drawn over that expression of the world.

Cas met Dean's eyes and focused on them as the last thing he was ever to see here – a brilliant green, the light and vibrancy that his soul was made of shining through them – until Cas could see nothing else.

His hand found that of his reaper's; he let it take him, and Castiel followed Dean into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> ...
> 
> The end.
> 
> ...
> 
> I mean, Dean died and Lucifer won in the episode so that was inevitable.
> 
> I really fought with myself as to whether it would be more or less depressing for Castiel to die too; I wrote literally eight different endings but this is the one I went for. I wanted the story to have point of some kind but I'm not sure that it does. I changed my mind about the ending several times in the past week and this is pretty sad, but there are no happy endings in endverse.
> 
> I knew I wanted Sam to not be chained to the comet that was Lucifer anymore – so added a death to make this whole verse less depressing. It took everything Dean had to manage to do that, and I wonder whether there may be differences of opinion as to whether Dean could ever possibly do it any circumstances. I hope that with the way I handled it, and the sheer desperation of their circumstances, it made sense.
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has commented and sent me messages, you're amazing and I'm sorry I'm so lame about replying to things; I can never think of what to say. But thank you.


End file.
